


Ready For A Revolution?

by CipherCifear



Series: Revolution and Mutilation [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Blood, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, One-Sided Tom/Tord (Eddsworld), Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CipherCifear/pseuds/CipherCifear
Summary: Imagine if Tom had been buried under the rumble and couldn't get out in time to shoot Tord down from the sky in his mech. How would that change things?Time passes and the Red Army begins to take over. Nation by nation falls to Red Leader's might.And what do our Trio do?Nothing.Tord will come to them in the end and it can be dealt with then. Right? That's how they solved every other problem that has been thrown their way. So it will surely work this time around as well?... Right?---------The story of what happened if Tom never shot Tord down, Red Leader's conquering of the world, and how Edd, Matt, and Tom were forced to fight back.--------Slowly updating





	1. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note from the author.
> 
> I do not ship the real life Tom Ska and Tord Larsson. I will never, ever, ship real people.  
> They are living beings, not objects for our own entertainment.  
> What I am writing here is based solely on my love for the cartoon series and interpretation of the characters in Eddsworld. NOT on the people they are based on.  
> I have only ever seen the characters in Eddsworld as just that. Characters. While they are based on real people, they have taken on a life of their own and become something else entirely.  
> However,  
> when writing this series- and any future Eddsworlds fanfics- I will be making changes to the characters so as to distinguish them from the people they were based on.  
> For example: all last names have been changed to fictional ones.  
> I want you all to keep this in mind while reading the fanfic I have written here.
> 
> Thank you very much.  
> Please enjoy.

    There was a lot of noise when he came to. At first he thought it was just Edd and Matt yelling over some minor problem and all he could think about was yelling back to shut them up and let him sleep. But it hurt to breath. He couldn’t suck in the air needed to yell. He struggled to gasp in what he needed to speak but the more he tried the heavier the weight on him seemed to be.

Weight. No that wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have weight on him. His bed only had light blankets and this… this felt like a truck had dumped cement all over him.

Then it all came back. Tord, his room, being homeless for awhile, finding that stupid wanted poster- what even was that all about?- the mecha,  and the rocket coming towards him. Shit. Was he dead? No this pain felt too- it didn’t feel right. When you died you weren’t supposed to feel like the weight of the world was on your chest. Right? Shit, he should know this crap. Note to past self: don’t skim the bible, actually read the book your mother got for you on your 10th birthday. Right, that isn’t what is important, the crushing weight is.

Tom’s vision finally cleared at he saw that he was in fact not dead. What he was, was buried under the remains of his house. Former house now he supposed. There went their insurance on the place. Then again they might have already fucked that one over when they tried to build an extension to the house. He would figure it out with Edd later once he got out from under this rubble. Tom tried to move the heavy piece of rubble off of him. It twitched but it was clear to the black eyed man that it wasn’t going anywhere soon. Double shit. Of all the ways he thought he would go… being left to die under what was formerly his house… probably number 7 on his list if Tom was being honest with himself.

Slumping against the ground, Tom glared at the huge piece of weight on him. Stupid boulder and it’s stupid weight. Maybe he could call for help, that is if Edd and Matt were still alive to hear him. They probably were. These were the two idiots who lived through 3 zombie apocalypses after all, one little mech wouldn’t kill them…. Right?

Tom sucked in as much air as his crushed lungs would allow and managed to get out a small “... G-guys….” before speaking became too much of a physical pain. But he could hear noises from above. Most of it was muffled but it didn’t sound like the worried gasps of their idiot neighbors or the loud blaring of sirens.

    “... S…. ong…. -’ld frien-”

Tord! Just hearing that bastard speak was enough to get the blood and rage flowing through him. **Fuck that bastard for shooting at him!** Tom shoved the heavy weight on him with all his might, hatred now the driving force behind his strength. **Fuck that asshole for destroying their house!** The rubble around him was moving now, shifting just enough for a small hole for the trapped blue hooded man to crawl through. **And fuck that commie for trying to kill him and his friends!**

   

    Tom pulled himself free of the rubble just in time to see a small red speck disappearing into the distance. With the last of his rage induced strength, Tom flipped the bird to the fading mech and her pilot before collapsing from exhaustion. Or blood loss. Really at this point it could have been one or the other.


	2. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later, Edd and Tom are about to see how the war in Europe is effecting where they live...

“- _Recent updates show that the Red Army have taken most of Europe. Though there still are many trying to fight for their country's freedom: Germany, France, Poland, Denmark, and Amsterdam have already surrender to_ -” Click.

“- _The president of the United States has yet to announce any official statement regarding_ -” Click.

“- _HUGE sale at Wagaman’s, 60% off all soda drinks and_ -” Click.

“No wait, Tom go back! It said soda!”

    Tom sent an annoyed look to his friend before switching the channel back to the commercial. Couldn’t even watch what he wanted in his own damn apartment when Edd came to visit. Then again, lately there hadn’t been much on to watch.

Three years had past since that fateful day and aside from new living quarters not much else in their life had changed. Matt, Edd, and himself still all hung out everyday even though they were no longer roommates (though maybe they still were since Tom had bought the WHOLE building and only the three of them lived there. Just roommates with private rooms? Whatever). Random wacky shit still happened to them all- just last week they all discovered fairies were real and were vindictive sons of bitches. Overall nothing major had changed. Well that wasn’t true. A lot had changed for the world but for the trio, it was the same old same old.

They didn’t talk about Tord though or the war happening in Europe.

Edd just ignored what was happening. Matt probably was too focused on himself to even notice that there was a war to ignore and Tom… Tom buried his burning hatred and pretended that this war and Tord wouldn’t come back for them. Because it always did. It always came back in the end. Things just gravitated to their little group. In the end this war and their stupid leader would come to them and they would be caught up in it like always. So Tom didn’t worry. Shit would go back to normal after that. He would have his revenge on Tord and he wouldn’t even have to seek the bastard out so the joke was on him! HA!

 

    Tom pulled his flask out from his hoodie pocket, about to open it and take a long needed chug before Edd suddenly was grabbing him by said arm and was practically dragging him out the door. He struggled to get his footing before wrenching his arm free.

    “Edd what the-”

    “I NEEd extra arms to help me carry all my coke. Didn’t you hear the tv 60% off on soda for the next hour! Hour Tom! We only have a single hour to buy a lifetime's worth of cola!” Edd was practically shaking his black eyed friend by the end of his rant, already starting to drag him off once again.

Tom stumbled after his friend till they reached the elevator, giving him time to pause and get free once again. Edd was frantically hitting the down button, muttering to himself about the amount of soda the two of them to could carry before collapsing. Tom highly doubted it was as large a number as Edd was muttering, even with their military training they couldn’t both carry seventeen boxes filled with the sugary shit. Maybe like. Six or so. God, Tom could already feel his back hurting.

 

The elevator pinged, Edd rushing in and his counter part following behind with flask in hand. Tom zoned out for most of the trip to Wagaman’s, taking a long chug from his container every now and then. Last thing he wanted to do was carry a shit ton of boxes sober. It didn’t surprise him much that when they got to the supermarket the place was pack. Their of them could move so much as 2 inches without someone slamming into them or shoving them all out of the way.

   “Huh. I didn’t think anyone liked cola as much as you.” Tom mentioned as he narrowly avoided an elbow to his eye socket. Edd was holding tight onto the back of the blue hoodie, letting Tom lead the way through the crowd. “Kinda freaky really.”

   “It is 60% off…” But even Edd didn’t sound too convinced.

 

Sure it was a great deal but it wasn’t bumrush the store kind of bargain. It was just soda, you could buy it anywhere, it wasn’t even that expensive normally! So why freak out over sixty percent?

By the time they reached the soda aisle only the very top shelves contained anything on them. Tom had to, begrudgingly, heft Edd onto his shoulders for him to be able to reach the cases up there. He managed to snag two boxes of cola before Tom couldn’t take the weight and shoving anymore, practically collapsing to the ground with Edd tumbling off him, boxes going with him. Immediately the crowd rushed towards the fallen goods. Tom barely had time to gather himself and Edd, launching himself at the boxes. He had not suffered almost hell to get these damn things just for some greedy fucks to steal them! He kicked their greedy hands away, snatching up the closest box to him. Some tried to grab his feet, causing him to panic and stomp down on them. What where with these people!? Edd was faring no better, some lady was literally clawing at his face to try and get him to drop the box of soda. Tom rushed over to his friend, box held tight in his grasp as he smash her face in with it. He couldn’t care less that he might have badly injured her, all Tom cared about was getting himself and Edd out of there.

    “RUN!”

    They booked it. Shoving everything and everyone out of their way, blue and green rushed through the crowd like a blur. Neither even cared if the insane soda craving people were still after them, they ran. They ran past past the store doors and kept going till they were two blocks away. Only then, slumping against a building to rest, did they both realize they hadn’t paid for the soda.

Edd collapsed on the ground in a fit of laughter. All this work for cheap soda and they didn’t even bloody pay for it! Tom joined in, dropping the dented box next to him and flopping onto the ground in a fit of hysteria. Of course they would end up stealing soda on sale. Because nothing normal ever stays long around them. Tom had to lean his head forward so the tears forming wouldn’t fall back into his eye holes he was crying so hard from laughter.

    “Haha- b-but.. Ahah… no seriously what even WAS all t-that. Hahaha-” Tom could barely get his words out he was laughing so hard.

    Edd shrugged his shoulders, snagging a soda can from his box he had stolen. “M-maybe they just REALLY like soda.”

    Tom’s laughter doubled at that, literally rolling on the ground in such a fit. No one liked soda that much. Not even Edd would go that crazy over soda. Ok maybe Edd would but even Tom doubted he would go as crazy as those people. Reaching into his pocket to pull out the flask, Tom paused as he just noticed their surroundings. The streets were crowded with the homeless, all of them eyeing their crates of soda. He put the flask away and stood up, motioning for Edd to the do the same. “We should get home…” Edd agreed and grabbed up their supplies. Less than he had hoped but hey- free soda. Tom kept close to his friend as they walked, taking note of just how many people he saw on the streets. While the neighborhood had never been amazing there had never been THIS many homeless before. Everywhere he looked he saw them, down the allies and even some hiding in the gutters. All of them eyeing the boxes Edd carried. But none made a move towards them. They just kept their distance and watched.

As they made their way back, the farther away from the downtown area the less and less Tom saw of them. The thing was, if not for the dirt and grime on them, Tom would have just assumed them to be any normal person and ignored them. Their clothing wasn’t beyond tatters, it was just worn, dirty, and a bit torn. It was as if these people were newly made vagabondes. It wasn’t until one of them managed to get up the courage to approach them did Tom finally understand.

    “Bitte ... nur ein Dose Soda. Bitte. Ich habe noch keine Monate gehabt.”

    “Er… sorry I don’t speak uh… whatever it is you said.” Edd gave her a pitying look before trying to move around her. She quickly blocked him, eyes begging the man in the green hoodie to give her a chance.

    “Bitte bitte ich dich Nur ein Schluck!”

Edd looked back at Tom for help, unable to understand what the girl was asking. Tom gave his friend an annoyed look and a shrug. He didn’t speak German. But… he did understand one word the girl had said. Soda.

Tom reached into his box and took out one of the dented soda cans, tossing it towards her.

    “Hey that’s mine-”

    “I’ll harpoon you another one.” Tom cut him off, watching the girl scamper away with her prize. (The Harpoon gun was one of the few things to survive the ruin of the house. They found it under what used to be Matt’s miniature collection, under what use to be the roof about twenty, some feet away from Tom).“It was dented anyways.”

    They weren’t homeless. They were all refugees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The obsession with Soda will be explained in the next chapter, which will be from Tord's point of view.  
> Also if the German sucks I am sorry.... blame google translate.
> 
> If there are errors please let me know, still looking for a beta reader to proof read.


	3. Boiling Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord daydreams about conquering things...

He didn’t hate soda. It was a fine drink, it served its purpose and it’s purpose was to be a sugary drink that gave people sugar highs. So why had he banned the drink in every country he took, every land he conquered and crushed beneath his boot? 

Because he could. There really was nothing more then that. Well, perhaps deep down there was some resentment towards Edd for injuring him with his own creation (why had he even built those buttons to do that? In case someone stole his robot? Seemed flawed in hindsight,) and this was his subtle way of getting back at the green hoodie wearing bastard- playing the long game as one might say. It was only a matter of time till the Red Army took over where his former ‘friends’ resided. But he had more important things to deal with. Like brokering a deal with the Russian, Chinese and North Korean governments to ally with him and help win this war. They could be dealt with afterwards. Easier to lure them into a false sense comradery before turning on them once they grew complacent and weak.

Tord took a long draw from his cigar and leaned back in his chair. Things were all going according to plan, within the next year Spain, Switzerland, Belgium, and Lithuania would all be his. He could deal with his old ‘friends’ later.

“Red Leader, sir-” he sat up straight and swiveled his chair to see who had entered his office without knocking. Paul stood before him, a folder in one hand that was almost thick enough to cover up the fact he STILL couldn’t get his damn name tag right side up. “I have that report you wanted.”

Tord held out his hand and without another word Paul handed it over, arms crossing obediently behind his back as he awaited his new orders. The communist leader scanned over the documents before tossing them onto his desk, sending Paul a cold look. Tord tried not to smirk when his man flinched. Even though Paul was one of his oldest and most loyal followers, Tord still enjoyed putting the fear of god into him every now and then.

“What have I said about knocking, comrade?”

Pauls face drained of color, his posture becoming more rigid and less composed as he spoke. “I-I’m sorry sir, I just thought you would want to see these documents im-”

“Comrade.” Paul shut his mouth when Red Leader interrupted him, “This is your first and  _ last _ warning. Next time, do knock unless it is an emergency. I trust you understand what the word ‘emergency’ means, yes?”

Paul gave a quick nod.

“Good, then you are dismissed, Paul.” Tord waved his compatriot off, almost giggling in delight to see him scamper away so quickly with his tail between his legs.

 

He really shouldn’t play with Paul like that, not when he had been so loyal to him and their cause. But sometimes Tord just couldn’t help himself. It just boiled up inside of him, like a pot that was overflowing with water. Sometimes he just had to let it out and sometimes Paul or Patryk had the misfortune of being close to him when that happened. Before the war, long ago, Tom used to take the brunt of it. He seemed to soak up Tord’s abuse with ease and throw it right back at his face. It was what made tormenting Tom so much fun, he put up a fight. 

He took a long drag from the cigar, blowing smoke across the files spread out before him. Some pictures had slipped out of folder, spilling across his desk with a form of disorder that Tord could just not stand. It was only a couple of snapshots that had escaped the binder, one of a man in a green hoody carrying a mag filled with groceries, another one of someone in purple on a date. Tord quickly put the pictures back where they belonged in the folder. He would read over the reports on those two later. 

Patryk had asked once why he still kept tabs on those three. Red Leader had just smiled and mentioned something about keeping your enemies close. Afterall, those three were the only ones who knew that he was the leader of the Red Army and all his dirty little secrets; and while he doubted they would go running to the government to ‘betray’ him, Tord thought it best to keep an eye on them. Just in case. They always had a knack for getting into trouble or being where one least expected them. For the past three years they hadn’t made a move against him, or at least that was what his spy’s lead him to believe. Aside from the odd adventure, nothing special seemed to be going on with them. It was both good news and… disheartening. Tord had thought they would at least put up SOME fight but he guessed he would just have to wait for that day. Neither Matt nor Tom would make a move till Edd convinced them to and knowing how blind that sweet naive idiot was… It could take some time for them to challenge him.

On picture had fallen to the floor. Tord was surprised he had missed that, bending down to pick it up. It was a picture of Tom, flask in hand as he wanted outside some small mom and pop shop. Tord didn’t immediately put the photo back. The picture was old, taken about 7 months ago but it was the most recent photo of his ‘friend’ that he had. The eyeless man looked… thinner. Well it was hard to tell really, damn that blue hoody, but it seemed to hang heavier on him then in the old days. Tord frowned at this, wondering if Tom was growing weak now that he was out of his life. No, he hadn’t looked like this when he had seen him in person and that had been after 8 years apart. Perhaps he wasn’t taking care of himself, now that was a sad thought. Tord had no interest in a weak Tom. He wanted the Tom that would throw an empty flask at his head for insulting his ‘god’. He wanted the bastard who would punch him just for saying a bad joke (never in his life had Tord ever told a bad joke, all his jokes were pure gold). He wanted- well Tord wanted a lot of things. Most of all, all his three ‘friends’ in top fighting form when they came for him. This way when they were crushed and at his feet begging for mercy it would feel like a proper victory.

No one around here challenged him like and unless he was interrogating prisoners personally no one dared to get snarky with him. It was good this way, it wouldn’t do for him to have anyone in his army sassing him but… it got… dull. It made that boiling sensation in him grow, craving something it couldn’t find here. Sometimes a mouthy prisoner would entertain him, with their snarls and confidence. But they always broke in the end.

Tord wondered if Tom would break if he ever got him in an interrogation chair. He somehow doubted it. The blue hooded drunk would probably go down fighting and swearing. 

 

Tord looked down at the picture again. The Tom in this picture wouldn’t go down fighting. He looked like he would just sit there and take it silently, giving up before even trying. No, he tore the picture to shreds, casting the pieces into the trash bin besides his desk. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Tom bloodied and beaten before him, glaring up at him with those soulless husk he called eyes and flipping him off before another punch came his way. He wanted Tom in top form so that when he broke him and made him his, he would feel complete. 

 

The heat inside of him burned at that idea, Tom on the ground, red running down his chin. It was a good imagine. Tom looked good with red coating him.

 

He couldn’t focus, not with those beautiful taunting images running through his mind. The reports could wait. Tord relaxed into his chair, pushing the small button that rested upon the leather arm rest. The doors to his office locked, dead bolted shut, to give the army leader some privacy. Because knowing  _ those _ two, they were bound to burst in and ruin this perfect moment. 

Tord unbutton the bottom three buttons of his blue coat, just enough to give him easy access to his trousers and belt. On days like this he hated how much he wore, but they were few and far between so he never bothered to change the design of his arms uniform. The cigar was given one last puff before being snuffed out in a nearby ashtray.

With a soft click the belt buckle came undone, leaving just enough room for a hand to slide in. The pants were loose, tight clothing ment it was harder to maneuver on the battlefield, but at this very moment Tord could have sworn he was wearing a pant size too small. His hands grasped tight around his straining manhood, the mental picture of Tom quivering at his feet was enough to get his blood boiling with need. He needed more than just one simple image- no- he needed more. He thought of Tom’s voice, raw and hoarse from shouting cheap profanities at him. His bottom lip split and bleeding from when he had struggles against the guards hold. Blue hoody torn to shreds and the skin underneath littered with small cuts from the battlefield he had been snatched from. Tord imagined himself pushing his boot down onto Tom’s neck, forcing him to gasp for air- maybe even beg. Yes. He liked that. He would beg in this fantasy. He would dig his nails into the metal of Red Leaders combat boot, trying to shove it off with what little strength he had left. All the while, even while begging, his black empty eyes would glare up at Tord. 

Tord groaned, head lolling back into the fine material of the chair, heat pooling in the pits of his stomach as the fantasy played out. 

He would pull his foot back, laughing as Tom gasped and coughed for air, the foot smashing back into the prisoner's stomach with cruel mockery. He would stop after a few swift kicks, pushing the cold metal of the boots tip against Tom’s lip. He would tell him to kiss it, kiss it and lick it clean and all the pain would end. Tom would weakly laugh and refuse but a few more harsh blows to his legs and hands would end that resistance. Unwillingly that tongue would slide out, licking his own blood off from rulers boot. Tord would praise him, give him mocking words of recognition just to see that look of pure hate directed his way. 

Tord moaned, knowing that even if he screamed that bastard's name no one would hear him while the room was in lockdown. The heat was spreading throughout him. His blood felt on fire and this… this daydreaming wasn’t enough. He needed that drunk wretch to quench his thirst, to sate this hunger that never seemed to go away and just continued to grow.

Tom would be dragged to his knees, Red Leader’s hand in his hair, directing him where to go. He would whisper down at the prisoner to put his mouth to better use, laughing when Tom would struggle back and be unable to break away from his grip. Tord would hold him there until he complied, nails digging into the Brits scalp and drawing blood.

The fantasy ended when Tord came, cursing Tom’s name as the flood of heat slowly began to fade away. 

 

Tord sat there for a moment or too, letting the bliss wash over him for a short bit before pulling his hand form his pants and reach for the box of tissues in his desk drawer. Quickly, he cleaned himself up, fixed his pants, re-buttoned his overcoat, and deactivated the locks. He felt better. His mind clearer and the heat inside of him now only simmered instead of boiling over. It wouldn’t last long. Soon the cravings would be back and either he would masturbate or kill someone, either of those always helped. But only for a short term. 

 

Straightening up, Red Leader turned his attention to files on his desk, grabbing the closest one and beginning to flip through it. He could wait a little longer. Tom would come to him in the end, no need to go chasing after his prize like a desperate fool. Besides. There were more important things to focus on. Tord pushed the intercom button, tossing the briefing back down onto the table.

“Patryk, get in here. It is time we start negotiating with our soon to be allies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer then I would have liked.


	4. Cracking Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord is still a pain in Tom's ass even when he isn't there, and Matt and Edd pretend everything is fine.

    “I am telling you Matt, they literally were trying to kill us over our soda! You should have been there- we had to run just to escape being killed by those insane people!”

Tom was only half paying attention to the retelling of their shitting shopping trip. Currently he was sitting at his desk, working on fixing _Susan_ while Edd and Matt sat on his couch and watched **_Vampire Pirate Zombie Nazi’s From Hell Part 2_ ** **.** Or they were supposed to till Matt asked why Edd had a huge bruise on his face and that side tracked Edd into ranting about their visit to Wagamans.

    “I swear, these people were acting like they haven’t seen a can of soda in years! It was crazy!”

He paused his work on _Susan,_ glancing over at the couch his mouth open ready to speak before closing it and turning his focus back on the guitar. Of course Edd wouldn’t know why they were like that, then again he didn’t know why those people were swarming till about an hour ago when he got the chance to look it up on his laptop. It seemed wherever the Red Army conquered, they banned certain goods and items. Soda was one of them. Apparently being found with it in your possession was grounds for execution. That was pretty fucked up, what was wrong with Tord? No, Tom shouldn’t be asking that question. There had always been something off about the commie (the paintball incident was a good example of that), it would be weirder for him _not_ to do something like this. Further inspection of recent news also let him know that the Red Army had banned certain songs (yes THAT song was on the list and knowing that Tord hated it enough to ban it made Tom grin with delight), movies, and that no civilians could own weapons that could fire a bullet or melt someone's face off. Based on these findings Tom could only assume that some of those refugees actually hadn’t had a drop of soda in over two years. Still an extreme way to react about soda- but hell, Tom could sympathise. If Smirnoff ever got banned he would literally start a damn revolution to get it back. Or just learn to make it himself. Whichever was easier.

 

But whatever. It wasn’t his problem in the end and it sure as fuck wasn’t Edds problem yet, so who the hell cared. Till it became his or Edd’s problem, Tom wasn’t going to give a damn about the war. That’s how they had functioned for the part three years, why change what worked? It didn’t get rid of that nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this… might not be the smartest or safest course of action. But there really was no other option. Go and fight Tord? Why should they put themselves in harm's way when they didn’t have to? That bastard wasn’t worth their damn time. Besides, he would probably pull a ‘Hitler’ and start a war on two fronts, thus spelling his own demise- Tord was cocky like that. Tom grinned at that idea; of Tord fucking up his own plans because he got too full of himself. The look on his smug face when all his dreams came crashing down around him and he would be left with nothing. Fuck that would be a sight to see. Tom would take a picture of that and hang it up on his wall in a golden frame if he could. It would be his crowning glory. His Magnus Opus or whatever it was called.

Reaching into his hoodie's pocket, Tom pulled out the flask and took a long gulp of the Smirnoff inside, his mind still stuck on the image of a broken and defeated Tord. It was such a lovely thought after all.

    “Hey Tom, are we having dinner here or at Matt's?” Edd's voice pulled him from his daydreams.

    “Here. I can’t stand all those pictures looking at me while I eat.”

    “Oh come now, you just haven’t learned to appreciate true beauty.” Matt chidded.

Tom rolled his eyes at the comment and shoved himself away from the desk. He seriously hated Matt’s apartment. The place was covered in pictures of the ginger-blonde man along with mirrors, and statues of himself. There was also a fountain he kept forgetting existed, and on more than one occasion he had walked into it and gotten his shoes soaked. How had Matt even installed that thing?? Not the point. Point was, fuck eating at Matt’s place. Just fuck Matt’s place in general.

    “Pizza?” he asked, picking up the landline and glancing over at the other two.

    “I was hoping Chinese.” The narcissist hinted.

    “We haven’t had Spanish in forever.” Edd stated.

    “Edd, it’s called Mexican.”

    “Why is it called Mexican if we have no Mexico near us, Tom??!”

Point to Edd. Couldn’t beat that logic, even if it didn’t make any sense really. “Fine, _Spanish_ it is.” Tom dialed the local store and tossed the phone over to Edd for him to order. If he wanted to call Mexican food Spanish then he had to order it.

Tom plopped down between the two, stealing the remote from Matt and changing the tv to cable.

    “- _In other news many local counties are now no longer taking refugees as shelter to give them have become few and far between. Many have taken to sneaking into this country, even it it means living on the streets- anything to get away from the Red Army’s reign of terror. More on this with Sascha reporting from_ -”

    “Boring.” Matt took the remote and begin to flip through the channels at random

    “- _The casualties are still unreported but it is believed to be in the hundreds of thou_ -” click.

    “- _Is cancer killing our children? More on FNX news tonight at_ -” click.

    “- _With the ban across conquered nations, many smaller soda companies have gone out of business while the larger ones are seeing a huge loss in profit. Could this be a tactical move by_ -” click.

    “God damn it Matt pick a channel and stay on it!” Tom tried to wrestle the remote out of his friends hand, unable to sit still while the other just pretended nothing bad was being said on the news. At least _he_ had the decency to drown the horrors of this world in booze rather than pretend nothing was wrong! As they fought for the remote the channels kept switching, faster and faster till what they were saying were all but a blur to them. Something about war. Something about buying pills. Something about lawsuits. War. Old comedy show. Death. Commercial- The remote slipped from Matts and Toms grasp, falling to the ground with enough force to knock the batteries out. The channels stopped changing, now stuck on a random news channel.

    “- _This horrifying footage was leaked to internet just last night. One of the few glimpses of the Red Army’s leader as he_ -” They all froze. The fighting stopped. Edd fell mute as he was asked for their address on the phone. None of them wanted to look at the screen. Slowly each one of them turned their eyes (or lack there off in Tom’s case) towards the screen. The footage was crap really. Dark and shaky with some external damage to the lense, judging by the cracks. If not for that hat, no one would be able to tell who was shooting the men and women with their hands bound behind their backs. One by one they went down, Red Leader calmly walking behind each one of them and firing into the back of their head. It was obvious by the footage he was saying something but none of them could hear what he was saying the audio was so glitchy.

There they all sat. Tom, Edd, and Matt, watching the man who had almost murdered them all three years ago, killing these random people like it was nothing to him. As if they were no more than dirt on his shoe that needed to be removed.

 

    Tom was first to move, his body sluggishly getting off the couch and remotely turning off the tv. One look back at the others told him dinner wasn’t going to happen. Matt had this far off look in eyes, one hand resting against his eye where Tord had struck him years ago. Edd just looked… so… scared. Who could blame him? If Tord could kill random people with ease, what chance did his former ‘friends’ have against him? Shit, the only reason they were still alive was because he flew off to deal with some bigger issue at hand rather than trifle with them. If he had chosen to stay behind…

Tom drank from his flask till there was nothing left in it. Then he went to the kitchen in search of his bottle, the flask just wasn’t going to cut it today.

    “I… I am gonna go home. I’m not really hungry anymore.” Edd muttered softly

    “Yeah… That’s fine.” Edd and Matt would be better by tomorrow. They just needed some time away from this to forget and console themselves. Tom was fine with that. He wasn’t feeling up for company anymore either.

He saw them off with a wave and retreated back into his bedroom to drink.

Fuck Tord.

 

    The next day Tom woke up with a killer headache. He chose to lay in bed till the sun had set enough for him to get out of bed without any light hitting his pure black eyes, blanket wrapped tight around his body as he shuffled miserably to the bathroom in search of advil. The one downside of vodka (well any alcoholic drink), was the god awful headaches one woke up with. But it was worth it for the warm feeling in his stomach and cloudiness in his mind. Tom tripped on his blanket and went sprawling onto the ground face first.

    “Ow…”  
It came as no surprise when mocking laughter rang in his ears. It had been happening a lot these past couple of years, ever since ‘The End’. Whenever he would trip up or make any kind of small mistake that _stupid_ heavily accented voice would be there to tease him. Tord wasn’t even in his life anymore and the bastard STILL found a way to annoy him.

“ _Classic stupid Tom_ ~.” The voice would always say, laughter echoing in Tom’s ears. Nothing seemed to make it stop either, nothing Tom did made Tord’s horrible voice leave him alone whenever he fucked up. Even small things such as the misplacing the remote would trigger the voice to appear and insult him. Smirnoff dulled the cruel taunts, made it softer and easier to ignore but when Tom was really drunk he began to notice how the voice would say other things: “ _This is all your fault you know._ ” or “ _Someone as incompetent as you could never do anything right._ ” Which would cause Tom to drink more in a pathetic attempt to drown it out. Sometimes it worked. He got so hammered that the voice died away entirely. But the mornings were always hell afterwards and Edd hated seeing him in that state. But ‘thankfully’ the voices only ever came if he messed up in some way. Neither Matt nor Edd knew about this… development… and Tom saw no reason to tell them. It was his stupid problem after all, not theirs.

Tom pushed away the insults of the false Tord and stumbled back up. Thankfully he did not have to look far for the medication. He always kept the pill bottle close at hand. Tom tore off the top and poured a couple of white-grey pills into his hand, dry swallowing them with ease.

Keeping the blanket tight around himself, Tom made his way to the kitchen, turning on the tv as he walked by.

    “- _last night the Red Army grew bolder, their planes spotted flying away from the wreckage of multiple factories across the country_ -” Tom opened the fridge, searching for something to eat that wasn’t cereal. Maybe bacon? No, he didn’t want Edd coming over and eating all of his food. “- _while most of the factories were producing arms, ammunition, or medical supplies, some civil factories were hit as well. The others that were attacked include several textile factories, a dairy processing plant, and multiple cola production factories. The company has already seen a drop in their stock values due to_ -”

Tom sighed, knocking his head against the fridge door. Great. Now Edd would want to go out and buy MORE soda before they ran out at the supermarket. God, he fucking hated Tord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would have published this sooner but it felt short so I went back and added more.  
> Still looking for a beta reader to spell check.


	5. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

    It was getting harder for the three of them to ignore the war. Mostly because it was right at their doorstep now. Refugees were flooding the streets and everywhere were requirement posters to join up at fight against the coming threat. It wasn’t just the Red Army the world was fighting against now,  Russia and China were now backing the trio’s former friend. No surprise there really, commies helping out other commies. Who could have seen that coming- oh no. Wait. Literally ANYONE with a brain could have that happening. 

A few more nations had fallen to Red Leader's control, Tom couldn’t be bothered to count them all at this point. The whole group's motto of ignore it till it comes to you was starting to bite them in the ass. The Red Army was gaining more ground every day to the point where Matt and Edd had a betting pool of when the next country would fall. It was their way of coping Tom supposed. He just drank to cope. Almost a half a bottle of smirnoff a day now; anything to ignore the fact that even if they did jump and try to fight back the chances of them winning were rather slim. The Tord’s mocking voice had grown stronger over the past year as well. He still hadn’t told anyone about it but the mask the wore was starting to crack. Multiple times he had slipped up and thrown an insult back at the voice, his anger making him forget that it wasn’t really there and that Edd and Matt were still in the room. He often tried to play it as if he was drunk and arguing with himself but that strategy only worked when the two had been keeping track of how much he had been drinking that day. The tactic often failed when early in the morning he would snap at the vocal mirage in front of them and they knew he hadn’t had a drop yet. Those were awkward times and Tom was grateful that they just ignored it like everything else going on around them.

 

So here they all were. Now a total of four years from that fateful day, Tom and Matt where sitting on the couch and watching  **_Vampire Pirate Zombie Nazi’s From Hell Part 3_ ** (a spin off movie series from  _ Insane Zombie Pirates From Hell  _ saga) while Edd searched the fridge for something to eat. With the country flooded with refugees, all the resources going into helping their country’s army, food was starting to be rather tricky to come by. At least good food. Not that ration shit the government was giving out to everyone, dry wall had more taste than that vile stuff.

“How about… PB&J on crackers?” Tom and Matt made a face of disgust. “Uh… oatmeal cookies?”

Matt shrugged his shoulders and Tom gave the meal a thumbs up. This was how it had been for the past couple of months, saving what food they could and bartering with others for their supplies. The only things that were easy to get were vodka- which might become more difficult now that Russia was their enemy- oatmeal, and anything canned. Edd was already feeling the cost of war; soda was almost impossible to find. The Red Army had kept up their bombing till almost no factories in the nation remained standing. Now there were two working cola factories who could barely produce what was demanded. In their fridge were about 5 cans of cola, saved for special occasions or REALLY shitty days. It was an adventure in of itself trying to get Edd’s damn soda fix for the month. Last month they had to bargain with mole people for two cans of the stuff in exchange for Matts statue of himself. Tom had to sneak the damn thing out of Matt’s apartment, down the stairs, and into the sewers to make the trade. Thankfully the idiot had yet to notice it was missing. Tom had the worst back pain after that fiasco. But their adventures started to happen less and less as the war grew closer. The last Zombie Apocalypse had been almost three years ago, the Vampires had all returned to the earth to wait out the war, and Hell was having to double down on ghosts and spirits what with so many people dying. The Red Army was literally killing everything with this war. At first Tom hadn’t mind, he was the one who got hurt the most on these adventures after all. But as they became less and less, the group was finding it rather hard to distract themselves from the incoming terrors of the war. Tom hated to admit it, but without those silly adventures to keep their minds off of what Tord was doing… they were starting to become antsy, twitching, and anger held in for so long started to slip out.  

“You guys want anything to drink? We have water, vitamin water, smirnoff, and one remaining milk.” 

“We still have milk?” Tom thought they had traded that away two weeks ago. 

“I’ll take it!” Edd tossed the small carton to Matt.

“Tom?” It was a stupid question. Tom always drank the same thing. At this point he was probably more vodka than water or blood. Wasn’t like he had a lot of options anyways.

“Smirnoff.”

Edd handed him the half empty bottle of booze, taking a bottle of water for himself and joining them on the couch. The cookies wouldn’t be ready for a while after all. All three stared at the tv, unsure if they dared to switch the movie off and watch something else for a change. For the most part it was hard  not to watch something about the war at this point, it was on almost every channel. The channels that didn’t cater to news now were creating shows based around it for propaganda reasons, like:  _ CopyRight Hero VS The Blood Army _ or  _ Little Magical Small Horses Against the Forces of Red Evil _ . It wasn’t really subtle; and there was only so many times they could rewatch the same damn movies. Tom could recite every line at this point from the  **_Vampire Pirate Zombie Nazi’s From Hell_ ** series. Every. Single. Line. Even Edd and Mat were growing tired of rewatching them.

Tom didn’t bother to ask for permission. He changed the input to cable, and tossed the remote behind the sofa. Now if Edd and Matt wanted to change the tellie they had to damn well work for it, Tom couldn’t take another minute of that movie- they had already watched it fourty three times within the past three months. Fourty. Fucking. Three. Times!!

“-  _ Come on non-binary pals, we have an army to defeat with the power of magic and friendship! _ -” This sucked.

“This sucks!!” Tom startled at Edd’s outburst. The green hoody friend had lept up from the couch, throwing his water bottle at the tv and screaming. “I can’t do this anymore! It’s bullshit!”

“Edd you cracked your-” 

“I don’t care Matt! I don’t. Fucking care!” Blue and purple watched as Edd stomped back at forth, glaring daggers at the ground. “Four years! Four years we’ve tried to play nice. We ignored all this bullshit Tord was doing and I CAN NOT DO IT ANYMORE! I HAVE TO RATION MY SODA! I HAVEN’T HAD A DRINK OF SWEET SYRUPY GOODNESS IN ALMOST A MONTH BECAUSE OF TORD AND HIS FUCKING WAR!”

Matt glanced over at Tom, giving him a worried look. Tom just shrugged his shoulders and took a long sip from his bottle. Honestly he was surprised Edd had lasted this long without coke. 

“I CAN’T EVEN GET ‘DISCOUNT’ COLA ANYMORE BECAUSE ALL THE FACTORIES HAVE BEEN REPURPOSED FOR THIS STUPID WAR EFFORT!! AND THE ONES THAT WEREN’T WERE BOMBED TO FUCKING DUST!! I CAN’T EVEN IMPORT COLA BECAUSE HE KEEPS BANNING IT IN ALL THE COUNTRIES HE’S CONQUERED!? WHY!? HE LIKED SODA!! WHY WOULD HE DO THIS!?”

“Probably to fuck with you.” Tom muttered, frowning down at his now empty bottle. From what Edd had told him long ago, he and Matt might have assaulted Tord with his own mecha for a bit to take revenge for his ‘death’ and their house. Seemed Tord was holding a very long standing grudge against the two of them because of that. Tom went to take another sip, forgetting it was empty. How had he drunk it all that fast? 

Edd stopped and stared at him. Shit. He shouldn’t have said that.

“What…”

“I.. nothing I said not-”

“He said Tord was probably doing it to fuck with you.” Matt repeated, beaming happily as if he had just been helpful. Tom wanted to smash the empty liquor bottle over his head.

“Are you kidding me!? Why!? Because I pushed a few buttons!? HE BLEW UP OUR HOUSE, GAVE MATT A BLACK EYE AND NEARLY KILLED YOU TOM!” Well no stopping it now. Thanks Matt. 

Tom slumped into the sofa, already tuning out Edd’s rant. Edd had never really had to deal with Tord’s pettiness before, where as Tom had dealt with it the whole time they had lived together: Accidently burned one of his hentai’s-  _ Susan _ went missing for a week. Discovered that stupid not-so-secret lair of his- had cameras installed all over his damn room that posted his stupidest moments to the internet. Ate Tord’s imported chocolate- all the smirnoff in the house went missing. The only reason Edd was probably freaking out was because Tord had never been petty with him or Matt till now. He always just let them apologize and fix whatever it was they had done wrong or in some cases just let it slide entirely. It seemed Tord no longer considered either green or purple his friends anymore and thus was doing the same thing to Edd that he had always done to Tom. Tom would have been amused if the situation wasn’t so serious. 

“ _ Aw, did Tom upset his friend? _ ” and of course now Tord’s stupid ghost voice decided to pop back into his mind- because the day wasn’t going poorly enough! “ _ Well I can’t say I am not surprised! Classic stupid Tom~! _ ” Tom grit his teeth and tried to ignore it. He didn’t have enough vodka in him to drown it out. He hadn’t in months. He tried instead to focus on what Edd was saying instead.

 

“I’m not putting up with this! WE shouldn’t have to put up with this! It has been over a year since things went to shit- well even more shit really- and I can not do this anymore! FUCK TORD!” Now that was something Tom could get behind. He raised his empty bottle and cheered the insult, ignoring how the imaginary voice scoffed at his toast. “HE ISN’T EVEN IN OUR LIVES ANYMORE AND HE IS SOMEHOW MANAGING TO SCREW US OVER! WELL I SAY NO MORE!”

Even Matt was getting riled up by Edd’s speech, standing and cheering as if they were at some sort of concert and Edd was the leader singer about to break out the sickest of beats. 

“We are going to take the fight to Tord’s door, kick it in, and beat the crap out of him for all he has put us through-”

It was both inspiring and so foolish to hear. Kick in his door? They were going to go to the Red Army’s base and kick in their heavily guarded doors- as if! There were three of them vs an army that grew bigger by the month. But listening to Edd, Tom couldn’t help but believe that they could do something. Hell- they had stopped zombie invasions 3 (4?) times! They had almost died a million times by this point! What could Tord’s army do that nothing else had managed to accomplish?! “Amen to that!” Tom managed to push himself up off the couch, slinging an arm over Edd’s shoulder. Because it didn’t matter that they were holy outnumbered with no access to weapons of any kind, Edd was motivated and when that happened everyone else was just along for the ride. If he wanted to take on Tord and his Red Army then it was going to happen. So why not give in and go along with it? Edd always had that effect on people.

“For our house!”

Matt cheered, fist pumping the air

“For our freedom!”

“Noooot really infringed upon at the moment-” Tom was cut off before he could go on.

“FOR COLA!” 

Tom shoved Edd away. Well that killed the badass vibe they had going. He went back and plonked himself down on the couch. “So,” He raised his head half way, one black eyeless socket looking at Edd expectantly. “Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edd really ruined the moment.  
> Heads up on the next chapter it will contain a non consensual sex scene.
> 
> Still looking for beta readers/editors.


	6. Rebellion Formed (Sorta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edd, Matt, Tom actually get off their ass and start a rebellion. Which takes longer then they thought. Who knew starting an army was so much work?

    “Tom, you are NOT putting the harpoon gun in the middle of our base!”

    “Hey! That gigantic harpoon gun is an important part of this family!”

Turned out starting a revolution against three gigantic armies was a lot harder than movies made it seem. The day after Edd’s huge declaration they began planning-- and by planning they went out to go buy supplies to plan. The day after that they drew up plans on how to start a revolution. The third day after the declaration they watched _The Princes Groom_. The pattern continued for about two weeks before any real progress was made. They all agreed that their apartment building-- while awesome and huge-- wasn’t the best place for a secret military base. It was surrounded by many other buildings and refugees were everywhere. While they had loads of rooms (it was a whole apartment complex after all), they all were… Well, apartment sized. If they wanted to stock up on large weapons (however they ended up getting those was beyond Tom) they would need a space designed for such storage. Also, literally everyone knew they lived there. The three of them had posted about moving on social media and showed pictures online-- hardly a good place for a secret revolutionary base since everyone they had ever meet knew where they lived. So after spending _another_ _week_ of packing up their most valued possessions, Tom put the apartment complex up for sale. It hadn’t even been on the market two days before the government was offering to buy it up and use it as home for the refugees that were overflowing the cities. In hindsight, they should have found a place to MOVE first before selling their old apartment. All three had to rush to find a new place to live/ act as their secret base of operations.

Which turned out to be harder to find than expected. It had to have enough to room to house them and anyone who wanted to join their fight (who would be dumb enough to do that though?) It needed a place to cook and store food, to store weapons, a garage of some sorts, plenty of power outlets, a place to bathe/shower, and it needed to be inconspicuous. Finding a place that had /all/ of those qualities was… Impossible. They thought they got lucky about a day into the search, but it turned out the place was haunted-- and none of them wanted to go through THAT again. Second day into the search, they found an abandoned farm that might have done the job… Until Matt leaned against a wall and the whole thing came crashing down. Day three they got their eviction notice and were starting to panic. Being homeless was not a ‘great’ way to start off a rebellion. It was by pure dumb luck on the fourth day that they had managed to find a place.

Edd and Matt had been wandering the English countryside after visiting Matt’s grandmother (because she was their backup plan incase they couldn’t find a base before being kicked out)  and had stumbled across a run down building. Upon further inspection they discovered it used to be an old soda factory that failed long before the war, left to rot away by time. Edd had jumped in delight when they found hundreds of thousands of unopened containers of soda. That was until Edd actually drank from it. Diet Vegan Bacon Chocolate Flavored Cola-- no wonder the plant had shut down. Who on earth would drink this?! Better question-- who thought anyone would WANT this flavor?! Edd had complained for hours later, hunched over the toilet and vomiting into it. But aside from all the cans of crappy knock off cola, the place was perfect. Tom bought the building and land that day (in cash, much harder to trace) and by the end of the day they had themselves a rebel headquarters.

 

So here they were. Move in day: Fighting over who got what room, where what went, and how many of Matt’s self portraits could be hung up outside his room. (Tom thought none should).

    “Besides,” Tom countered, buffing out some of the scratches on the guns dented surface, “We haven’t tested to see if the roof can even hold her weight yet. Rather leave her here incase of an emergency. Easy access and all that shit.” Edd made a face at this, muttering something about moving it later then.

The move had been tricky to say the least. Matt had insisted on bringing his new novelty toy collection with him and ALL of his pictures and mirrors; the car simply did not have enough space for them all, forcing them to take multiple trips back at forth. This was actually their 3rd move-in-day because of how much crap Matt had. Tom on the other hand had only brought a few important items, choosing instead to leave behind the rest. _Susan_ of course was brought, along with all any remaining bottles of Smirnoff, favorite blue hoodies, and of course the harpoon gun he had Edd had just been arguing about. The nautical weapon currently sat in the middle of what used to be a large storage area for some sort of machinery. It did look a little out of place surrounded by two couches, a tv with several game systems, and a large table with chairs. This area had been dubbed the recreational room by Edd, stating that if this whole thing worked that they would need a place for their soldiers to relax and just hang out. War could be stressful after all. Tom had only agreed to the room if later on a bar was installed and Edd went along with the plan.

 

The rest of the base was still empty. The larger private offices had been turned into their rooms, each in a different wing of the building. Edd’s room was in what used to be the part of the factory that made the cola, Tom’s was in the former packaging and shipping area, and Matt’s room was in the wing of the building that seemed to be for executive things. It was a good layout. And while they were far apart from one another, the building's floor plan was simple, so it would only take at most ten minutes to walk to the others place. The recreational room was more in the center along with the commander center. Center was a glorified name in reality. It was literally on the floor of a former production area, there were still machine parts all around it for god’s sakes. Tom couldn’t figure out why Edd had wanted the command center there but he was the boss so whatever.  

That was another thing they had yet to sort out: Ranking. In both Matt and Tom’s eyes, Edd was the defacto leader of their rag tag army. He had always been their leader in their group, a charisma that just poured out of him and made others want to tag along. It seemed right for him to leader. Edd had wanted to put it to a vote but Tom thought it was pointless, they were all just going to choose him anyways. As for himself and Matt…. Well, they still weren’t sure what their job in this was. The plan had been to assign roles after they had moved in, but no one had planned for it to take this long. Tom made a mental note to bring it up once Matt returned from hanging up his self portraits.

    The eyeless man made one last dent inspection of the harpoon before slumping on what used to be his couch. Staring up at the gray ceiling, Tom wondered if they should repaint the facto- base. It would take fucking forever with just the three of them but the grey faded walls that flaked off old paint was… it wasn’t secret hideout material! Just looking at the gunky ceiling was enough to depress Tom. He felt like a hobo living in abandoned warehouse, not some cool rebel with a cause and a badass haunt. It would probably be discussed after the whole ranking issue and WHERE THE FUCK they were supposed to buy weapons. Tom was still stumped on that. It wasn’t like a boat load of weapons was going to fall into their lap- not with their nation taking every damn gun for themselves and the war. And it wasn’t like they could ship it in from another nation, not with Tord and his FUCKING anti aircraft missiles, shooting everything he deemed a threat, down. Fuck Tord. Asshole somehow managed to make everything hard for them. First it was getting cola now it was starting an army. Why couldn’t he just lay off and give them a damn chance!

 _“Ah, ah, Tom you know that is not how it works_ .” Tom cringed at the voice, turning to face the couch so Edd wouldn’t see the face of anger he was making. “ _I would never go easy on my ‘old’ friends_.”

Couldn’t even escape from the bastard in his new ‘home’, that stupid voice followed him everywhere. It had left him alone during most of the move and prior to it but of course it wouldn’t just go away that easily. “ _Not that it matters anyways. You won't win. Not when they have someone as stupid and useless as you on their team~_ .” Tom grit his teeth, nails digging into the couch as the delusion continued on. “ _I mean, you couldn’t stop me before, Thomas. So what makes you think anything has changed?_ ”

    “Finished connecting the PZ4 to the tellie.” Edd popped out from behind the tv, startling Tom out of his own thoughts. “Couldn’t find a cable outlet so…. We might have to install a dish- hey are you ok?”

Edd looked down at where Tom had fallen, giving his friend a confused and concerned look. Tom quickly got back to his feet and shrugged it off, pretending that he merely dozed off and slipped from the comforts of the couch. Edd didn’t seem to buy it but let the issue go once Matt returned.

    “Guys you should see my wing of the base! It. Is. Beautiful~!” Tom rolled his ‘eyes’, sitting back down on the couch, Matt taking the spot next to him. “So now that we’re all unpacked… Now what?”

Good question… What followed was an awkward silence. Purple and blue turned to look at Edd, expecting him to come up with an answer. Their ‘leader’ took a seat on the opposite couch, unsure of what to say.

    “Well. I guess we figure out who does what. I already know you two will vote me in as leader-”

    “Your own fault,” Tom quipped, searching his hoodie's pockets for his flask. Had it fallen out? He looked on the floor, unsurprised to find it under the couch.

    “But an army needs more than just one leader! It needs uh… Strategist and co-leader... And other stuff.”

    “Very specific, Edd.”

    “Shut up, I’m not done,” Tom motioned for their leader to continue, taking a long swig from his newly found flask. “So, Matt-”

    “That’s me!” Matt bounced on the sofa, already eager to play his part in the upcoming war. He was finding this a lot more fun then the last time they all ‘played’ army. “What do I do?!”

    “You are in charge of propaganda, recruitment, and designing our uniforms!”

Literally, Matt vibrated off the couch, squealing in delight. He began to talk a mile a minute, going on and on about all the flyers he would put up across England and the color schemes of their uniforms. Something to clash with Tord and his stupid obsession over red! He brought up the color green but Tom quickly shot that down. Red and green were christmas colors and he DID NOT want those in front of his face 24/7 until the war ended. (Whenever that would be). Matt pouted but didn’t give up, muttering to himself about slogans and color designs.

    “Anyways…” Edd continued, “Tom, I was thinking you could be my second in command.”

Tom choked on his vodka. He coughed, trying to get the burning liquid out of his lungs and nose. Tord’s voice had fallen silent too. The laughter was gone, for once it was just… cut off. Stopped mid sentence unable to continue. It felt… Tom didn’t know what it felt like.

    “M-me?”

    “Well… yeah. Out of the three of us you are the smartest and always seemed to get your hands on weapons-” Edd motioned to the harpoon gun in the middle of the room, “And… well. I trust you. I know you will do your best by me. And that you won't forget something the minute after I tell you.” Edd gave Matt a long hard look. He was still salty about those nails form when they tried to build an attic. “Tom, you are one of my oldest friends, and I know you will always be there to help me out when shit hits the fan. And it probably will. A lot. There’s three of us against a whole army but… I know you will always be there for me no matter how bad things get.”

He looked away, unsure why his ‘eyes’ were suddenly stinging and wet.

    “That’s pretty gay, Edd.” Tom choked out.

    “You’re pretty gay.” Edd just looked away and smiled, allowing his friend a moment of privacy.  “So… is that a yes?”

Tom rubbed the water from his sockets, clearing his throat before looking back at his long time friend with a grin.

    “Fuck yeah it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Aryandiani for helping to proof read and edit!  
> This chapter wouldn't be as amazing as it is without their help!


	7. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running an Army is hard. When the only people who could RUIN your plans for world domination vanish off the face of the earth, things become a lot more stressful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE ON THE CONTEST:  
> I will announce the winner of the contest June 18th, on my tumblr account and post the actual chapter 8 on June 19th.  
> So that means you have 6 days to submit an entry to my tumblr: http://ciphercifear.tumblr.com/ if you haven't yet!  
> Thank you all so much to everyone who has entered so far! I love your entries to much and I just so happy people even entered!
> 
> \----
> 
> Thanks again to Aryandiani, my wonderful editor and life savior. Without whom I might have gone a lot insane writing this.
> 
> \---
> 
> UPDATE: Winner of the contest announced!  
> http://ciphercifear.tumblr.com/post/161955584255/contest-winner-announce-for-design-contest

      Red Leader was furious. For the past year everything had been going according to plan. The Russians and Chinese were allied with him, almost all of Europe was his to control, and soon Asia would be in the palm of his hands. Everything was going perfectly. Things were going so well he hadn't even needed to use his robot in a while. Then /they/ vanished. The three people who could literally ruin everything he had created. The last report he had gotten was almost seven months old, and since then, neither hide nor hair had been seen of Edd, Matt, or Tom.

Tord was livid. No. Livid wasn’t even descriptive enough a word to detail how he felt about this sudden change in plans. In a blind rage at this turn of events, Tord had shot the soldier who had delivered the news, pulling the trigger till only the empty click of his gun was heard.

Those three morons were the only people on the planet with enough dumb luck to ruin EVERYTHING-- and no one in his damn army could find them. All his spies came back empty handed, rewarded with a bullet to the knee for bringing back their leader literally nothing of value. Tord hadn’t been expecting miracles from them-- After all, England had yet to fall, so infiltrating it was tricky at best and downright impossible at the worst. But he had expected SOMETHING. ANYTHING. People do not just vanish off the face of the earth. They always left behind clues of some sort-- a paper trail, witnesses! For fucks sake, one of them had pure black voidless eyes-- they should be easy to find!

He knew what those three were capable of-- it was why he was saving England for last. If the fight wasn’t at their doorstep, often they never bother to get involved. It was how that group  worked-- Tord seeing it first hand while living with them. So he purposely kept his army from invading England. He couldn’t leave it alone entirely, however. A few raids had been ordered to keep the nation weakened and stop them from assisting their neighboring countries against his army. But Red Leader had made sure that his troops understood that these were in-and-out missions only. Nothing more.

So... Why. Were. They. GONE?!

 

After weeks of being brought nothing, Tord was starting to get antsy. His mind raced, trying to figure out what they were doing. Had they joined the army to try and stop him? No, he had a few spies in the military ranks, he would have been alerted to something like that. Even if they had left the country, Red Leader would have known. So where were they?!

The longer he thought about it, the more his blood seemed to boil. Every little thing seemed to set him off. Even Patryck and Paul had not been spared his wrath. Last week Tord had nearly crushed Paul’s windpipe for making a smart remark, only stopped because Patryck managed to pull him off and calm their leader down. Of course he had apologized for the outburst-- Paul hadn’t deserved that. He tried to explain that he was stressed and that he needed some time alone.

Red Leader left the two in charge while he sought out an outlet for his growing impatience and worry (and found none). They could be trusted to hold down the fort while he was away. They were such good soldiers. His best really, even with all their… faults. They had been with him since the beginning, back when the Red Army was just his dream and it was the three of them against the world. They had stayed with him through everything. Tord would even admit (to himself and never out loud nor to anyone else) that without them he would not have accomplished all of this. They were his most loyal and trustworthy men. They could get away with what no one else in the Red Army could. Where most would be executed for their failure, Tord merely gave them strict punishments. He knew that playing favorites wasn’t a smart move, but they had earned some leeway with him for sticking by him and his ‘mood swings’ for so long.

    “Faen!” Tord cursed, sending the papers on his desk flying across the room.

This wasn’t part of his plan. They were supposed to stay out of his business till he was ready for them, when there was nowhere left for them to run. If the world was against them, Tord had reasoned that even their dumb luck wouldn’t be enough to stop him then. But now they were gone and screwing everything up! Too much of the world remained unconquered, his allies weren’t even fully trustworthy yet, and half of his more powerful weapons had yet to be completed. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

Red Leader slammed his fist down on the intercom button, barely able to contain his rage as he broadcasted for Paul and Patryck to reported to his office. Immediately.

Tord leaned back into his chair, teeth gritted as he tried to will his anger away. It wasn’t working, and he didn’t want to take out his own frustration on his two best men. They didn’t deserve to be berated for something that they could not control.

A knock on his door signaled that they were here. Tord tried one last time to calm himself before allowing them to enter.

    “Sir.” They each saluted, standing at attention before him, ignoring the papers strewn across the floor. Tord gave them a false smile, motioning for the two to relax. They dropped formal formation but it was obvious from the way the two men stood they were not at ease. They had both been around Tord long enough to know when he was in a foul mood. And though they trusted their leader with all their being, neither were foolish enough to think he wouldn’t accidentally let his anger get the better of him should they say something foolish.

    “I have a mission that needs undertaking-- a personal matter, actually.” Paul and Patryck spared one another a glance before looking back at their leader. Very few things garnered the Red Leader’s personal attention outside of diplomatic meetings and robotics. For him to be asking them to help out on a mission that he wished kept quiet… Both Paul and Patryck found it odd. Red Leader was very open about his wants and desires; and anything Tord believed to be ‘sensitive information’, he went out and did himself. He never passed it on to either of them. The last time Red Leader had gone on a ‘personal business,’ he had come back with a giant mech that no one in the Red Army had known about. Not even Paul or Patryck. So the idea that this ‘personal’ matter was being passed onto them was a shocking surprise. Why couldn’t Tord do it himself if he was so concerned? “But only one of you can go. I can not have both my right hand men away from me during such an important time.”

There was a moment of silence before Patryck stepped forward, his partner cocking an eyebrow at his comrades sudden eagerness. Patryck gave Paul a look, one that said they would discuss it later, the bushy eyebrowed man dropping it with an understanding nod.

   “I can do it, sir.” Red Leader looked between the two of them for a moment, not saying anything about the look they shared. They trusted each other and he trusted them. Whatever the look was, it was nothing he should concern himself with.

   “I haven’t even told you what the mission is yet soldier.”

   “Doesn’t matter.” Patryck shrugged, trying to make himself look at ease. “I have less on my plate then Paul does at the moment anyways, so whatever it is I will have the time to do it.”

 

Tord considered this for a moment, trying to recall what he had last assigned the two. He couldn’t remember-- probably something about the new soldiers and background checks on them. Either one of them could get the job done really. They were about the same in most aspects, but Tord was pleased that Patryck had volunteered instead of Paul. Of the two men, Patryck was less… obvious. Paul simply stuck out too much with his constant smoking and very, very, distinct eyebrows. Red Leader dismissed Paul with a wave of his hand. The soldier saluted, gave his friend one last look of concern before leaving the two alone to discuss the assignment.

    “I need you to do me a favor. These three men--” Tord paused. He had reached out for the document containing the pictures and grasped air. Right. He had forgotten they were somewhere on the floor because of his little outburst. Faen. “You’ll find their pictures somewhere on the ground. All in hoodies: green, purple, and blue--”

He had to pause again because Patryck was on his knees, searching for the pictures. Tord sighed, mentally counted to ten and continued on with his debriefing.

    “I need you to go to England and find them. Our spies have lost track of them and it is imperative that we locate them as soon as possible. Normally I would just have our undercover agents continue to look for them, but they can not stray too far away from their main objectives. Which is why I need someone I trust to search out these men and report on--”    

    “Found them!” Patryck scrambled back up to his feet, a file in hand.

Tord rubbed the bridge of his nose, glaring at his soldier for interrupting him. Patryck flinched at the harsh look from his leader and quickly muttered an apology. Tord grumbled, taking deep breaths. He needed to keep himself calm for this. He couldn’t just go lashing out at his best men for his own issues. It wasn’t fair to them. This wasn’t another cloudberg, after all, no need to snap at Patryck.

    “... And report on what they are doing. I don’t want you interacting with them unless it can not be helped or I order otherwise. is that understood?” It wasn’t a question. It was an order. Patryck didn’t have the amazing luck those three. If he got too close to them and became caught up in one of their many stupid adventures… Tord did not want to lose such an important comrade.

    “Yes sir.” Patryck paused. Tord gave him a hard look, able to tell that the man wanted to say more. He let it slide. Patryck would speak up when he thought it was right.

    “You will find that file contains everything you need to know about them and their last known location.” He paused. “... And stay away from the blue one, Patryck. I don't doubt he will hesitate to kill you should he ever learn about your connection to me.”

    “Yes sir.” There was another pause, but this time the soldier followed it up with the question he had been too nervous to ask before. “Sir… why aren’t you seeing to this mission yourself it they are so important?”

The Red Leader sighed and for a moment Patryck saw how tired their leader looked. No-- tired wasn’t the right word. He couldn’t place what he was looking at on Tord’s face. It was a mixture of emotions that Patryck couldn’t pin down no matter how hard he tried.

    “... I suppose it’s because they know me.” Tord could see the look of confusion on his soldiers face. He cleared his throat and clarified. “They knew me before I became Red Leader. I believe they are the only ones on this planet who actually stand a chance of stopping me, Patryck. The only damn ones.”

Tord chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he looked up at the beautiful red ceiling.

    “A narcissist with the intelligence of a kitchen shelf, a drunk with literally no eyes who can somehow see, and gullible idiot who likes to draw. How sad is that? No one else in the world could truly harm us. No one! And yet those three could bring down our entire operations if they cared enough to because they are-- without a doubt-- the luckiest bastards on this planet.”  

    Patryck felt frozen in place, unsure what to do with this new information suddenly dumped upon him. Tord never really talk about his time before starting their army, he never once mentioned these three to either himself or Paul, nor had their leader ever looked so… frightened. He really was convinced that these three men could ruin everything they had all worked so hard for. Patryck looked back down at the pictures, inspecting them more closely this time. None of the three men looked particularly threatening-- one of them was making out with a mirror in one of the pictures for christs sake! But when he looked over their dossiers, Patryck began to understand. They stopped three (four?) zombie apocalypses, gone to hell and back, dealt with monsters, aliens, and all other horrors only to come out in one piece. If these men were anything like their file and were enemies of the Red Army, it was no wonder that Tord was suddenly tense about their whereabouts.

    “I… I understand sir.” Patryck stood straight, wanting to show his leader that he would do this. He would find these men if it was the last thing he did. Because he wasn’t going to let them ruin Tord’s dream. Their dreams. “I won't fail you, sir.”

    “I know you won't, Patryck.” Tord smiled, already feeling a bit more at ease. “Just promise your leader one thing.”

    “Anything sir.”

    “... come back to me in one piece.”


	8. Looking The Gift Horse In The Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of what happens during those seven months Edd, Matt, and Tom 'vanish' off the face of the earth.
> 
> Tom dislikes being second in command because it comes with so much bullshit.  
> The Army gets a uniform, flag, and symbol.  
> And new recruits!

Tom regretted becoming second in command not even two weeks later. At the start he had been touched-- honored even-- that Edd had felt so highly of him. For the first time in so long, the voice had left him alone, and Tom had felt confident in himself. He even drank less he was so damn happy.

Then the workload hit.

Turned out, being second in command of a rebel army with a leader who had never had any military training beyond ‘Lieutenant,’ sucked. It sucked balls. No-- balls isn’t even a strong enough word to describe how much this situation sucked. It sucked a giant melting lego figure of Tord’s balls-- that’s how much it sucked. At first, it had been pretty cool. Tom had gotten a lot of say over what they planned on doing and got to boss Matt around whenever he felt like it. Being second in command was a breeze. Then came the problems.

The first was Matt and his design choices for their armies uniforms. Tom had wanted to vomit the second he had seen the sketches: Dark green over coats, purple vests, orange helmets-- it was obvious where Matt had gotten his inspiration from. Tom and quickly told him to ‘fuck off’ and think of something better that WASN’T based off of himself. The narcissist had slunk off, going to his side of the base to pout. Tom thought that would be the end of it for at least a few days, but not even two hours later, Matt came rushing back with a new design in hand. One that didn’t actually suck.

The uniforms were a mixture of all three of their favorite colors: Dark green jackets, dark blue pants, and purple for shirts and ranking insignias. Tom was genuinely shocked. He honestly didn’t think Matt had a creative bone in his body outside of works based on himself, but this design proved him wrong. It looked nice, the color scheme was suitable for field missions, and overall had a nice ‘rebel’ feeling to it. Even if they couldn’t produce enough uniforms for whoever joined them, at least getting clothing to match the color scheme would be easy. Matt had even designed an official insignia for their (still unnamed) army. Tom had been sort of confused on that part because Edd hadn’t asked for a symbol. He had asked for a uniform design and a flag design, but that was all.

    “Todd (Tord) get’s a cool symbol so why shouldn’t we?” Matt was almost preening with joy, waving the emblem back and forth. “Also, look how bad-ass it is!"

Tom hated to admit it-- but it was a pretty awesome motif. It was three arrows pointing upward, one straight up the other angling off in different directions. Each arrow was given a color, the middle one was green and the other two were purple and green. Tom smiled, rather fond of how Matt had tried to keep their whole groups theme going throughout all his designs. It was sweet.

    “What’s the other arrow for?” Tom had pointed to the small arrow at the bottom of the three.

It was tiny compared to the other three, its shaft not even connecting to purple, greens, and blues. Unlike the other three it also had no bright color, just plain old black.

    “They’re harpoons, not arrows.” Matt corrected. “And...Well.”

He had gone silent, looking down at the ground. Tom frowned and looked back at the design. He didn’t need to ask why that other arrow was there. Matt might not fully remember Tord, hell he still couldn’t get his name right, but the wound Tord had left on him was still there. It might not be visible and it might not effect him the way it did Edd or Tom, but Matt had been hurt on that day too. Tom supposed this was his way of fighting back, his way of giving Tord the finger.

    “... It’s a great design Matt.” Tom handed the emblem back to his friend. “It will be perfect for us.

Matt hadn’t stopped smiling for the rest of the day.

 

The next problem had been getting power to their base without it being obvious the huge factory was still operational. The place needed a lot of power to function, Tom had found out. More so than their former apartment complex. Just paying for the whole building to be operational would run them out of cash within a month. So Tom had to find a way to get them electricity without paying for it and without it being obvious the cola factory was operational. It was a hassall. A huge pain in his back. They weren’t anywhere near water, so hydropower was a no go. The factory hadn’t been built on top of a secret stock of coal or fossil fuel, so there went those options.

Nuclear was a hundred percent no. Last thing Tom needed was Edd somehow getting super powers again and another nuclear monster possessing him. Or worse; Matt gaining powers. That would have been a nightmare. So no, nuclear power was never an option on the table. Tom had considered using wind power, but there was no subtle way to put up the turbines. They stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the countryside. Anyone with half a brain would wonder WHY they had been built there. Steam was out too because you needed something to MAKE the steam, and that brought about a whole other set of problems Tom didn’t want to touch.  
So it really only left them with one option: Solar thermal energy. The main issues he had stumbled across was how on earth was he supposed get his hands on  solar panels, let alone ones big enough to power a whole damn cola plant!? He couldn’t just buy them-- that would raise too many questions. He couldn’t make them either, the factory didn’t have what they needed to produce the  panels.

Tom had started to panic when dumb luck struck. Edd had been decorating his side of the factory (trying to make it look a little more militaristic) when he had stumbled upon a locked storage room. They must have missed it in their first sweep of the place. It was rather out of sight, and Edd had only found it by wandering his wing of the factory a bit more. Upon breaking the lock, all three stood shocked by what was in the room. Hundreds-- no-- thousands of solar thermal collectors, just laying there. Tom hadn’t believed it. It was too good to be true. Sure, they had dumb luck all the time but THIS was just impossible. No one was this lucky! Upon further inspection, Edd had found some old documents which shed some light on why the panels were there. It seemed before the cola plant had failed, the board of directors wanted to try cutting their electrical costs. By using solar power instead of their former source, they wouldn’t be losing as much money per month. They even made extra cash by selling the power they didn’t use back to the government. It hadn’t been enough to save their failing business (once again, who on earth would drink Diet Vegan Bacon Chocolate Flavored Cola?) but it was the trio’s saving grace. Tom thanked his dumb luck for greedy CEO’s.

 

With that problem out of the way came a whole new one: Weapons. Where was he supposed to get weapons to fight the Red Army? Sure he often times picked up the random flamethrower, harpoon gun, or real gun due to their silly adventures-- but that had only ever been enough for himself and maybe two others. Not a whole freakin army! Edd seemed to have confidence in him though. Why? Tom had no idea. Any time in the past when he had gotten his hands on a larger weapon, for example; a tank-- it had been from Tord’s secret stash at their old house. That place had been riddled with weaponry, enough to stock up a small militian force. But it had all been blown to shit with their house thanks to that asshole, so that option was out. Right?

Now that he thought about it… They hadn’t really looked to see if any of the weapons had survived the destruction, only if their stuff had. Not to mention, knowing that bastard, Tord probably had another secret stash hidden away somewhere. The man had weaponized the whole house for god’s sakes! It was worth a look at least, because Tom was out of ideas on where to get a butt load of guns.

 

It was weird, staring at what used to be their house. Everything around it was still the same. The random neighbors to their right and on the left was Eduardo and his crew. Well, just Mark now, really… They had even rebuilt their house. It looked almost the same but… A little smaller. Tom wondered if he should stop by and offer condolences or something but decided against it. They would probably just kick him off their property, and Tom wouldn’t blame them. After all, he was supposed to have died; not Jon. It wouldn’t be any shock if they hated him. So the eyeless man left the neighbors alone, walking over to the empty lot that used to be their house.

Now that he was actually here, however, Tom felt some what dumb. The whole lot was as clean as a whistle. New grass, a new fence post, several tents now on the lawn instead of a house. Seems the government bought this place too and just threw down some tents for the refugees.

If there had been any weapons here, someone would have found them by now. Tom groaned and just sat down in the middle of the lot, glaring at the grass. This had been a stupid plan. Of course there were no weapons here, they had all gotten blown to smithereens thanks to Tord and his dumbass rocket! Why had he been so foolish to thought something might have survived that wreckage!? Because of their groups dumb luck!? It had obviously all been wasted on him when he survived that rocket!

    “What the hell are /you/ doing back /here/?”

Tom startled and looked up. Eduardo. At first he had thought it was Edd from a quick glance, now he understood why the two were always being confused for one another. Similar hair color, same clothing color, same basic face shape. Aside from the mildly tanned skin, facial hair, and accent the two did look rather alike. He shook the thought from his head and stood up.

    “I… It’s a long dumb story.”

    “With you morons it is always something dumb.” He hopped the fence with surprising ease, making his way over to the blue hoodie wearing man. “So spill it loser, why are you back?”

Tom shuffled from one foot to the other, unsure how to answer the others question. What was he supposed to say? ‘I came back looking for a shit load of weapons that our craxy ex-roomate left behind-- you know the one who killed your friend?’ Even if Eduardo did believe that quick explanation, he would probably demand why Tom wanted the weapons in the first place. Which that would lead to more explaining, and Tom didn’t want to stay around the man longer than he had to. He could see the look of hatred in Eduardo’s eyes. The unspoken accusation that he should be the one dead and not Jon. He caved.

    “You have some place less... Open…. We could talk?”

Eduardo scowled at this response, but Tom held his ground. He owed these guys an explanation of why he was back-- yes-- but he wasn’t about to jeopardize their rebellion by being an idiot and speaking about it where anyone and their deaf grandmother could hear. With a harsh grunt, Eduardo turned his back on Tom, walking back towards his house. Unsure of what to do, the eyeless man stayed where he was. Should he follow? Or was Eduardo letting him lea-

   “You coming or what moron?” Question answered. Tom quickly followed after him.

 

Now that he thought about it, he has never been in his former neighbors house before. He paused at the door, unsure what he would see. An identical copy of their old space? Sure, Eduardo and his crew were similar to Edd, Matt and himself, but they couldn’t be THAT alike? The man in green glared at Tom for stopping and he quickly hurried inside. It was… It wasn’t an exact copy, but it did look close to their old living arrangements. A large tv, a sofa sitting across from it, nearby a room leading to the kitchen, a hallway to the bedrooms and bathroom… The only difference was that it looked a bit more upscale than theirs ever had. A bigger tv, a sofa made of expensive leather, a glass coffee table before it. The kitchen was black and pristine and the carpets in the hallways didn’t have a single stain on them.

Eduardo made a comment about shoes off and Tom quickly removed them, leaving his black and white sneakers by the door. He followed his friends look-a-like into the kitchen, tensing up when he noticed Mark was at the table eating breakfast. Mark responded in kind, looking between his friend and Tom with a concerned and confused look.

    “Sit.” Eduardo pointed to the chair by Mark and Tom sat himself down obediently. Mark gave him a small glare and scooted away. Eduardo took a seat across from them, his sole focus now on the black eyed man. “Now… Spill.”

Everything came out so quick, like a dam bursting. Tom couldn’t stop the words pouring from his mouth. He told them about Tord, about how he used to live with them, about how he left, his betrayal-- he didn’t fail to notice the way both men tensed up when he brought up _that_ day-- about Edd’s declaration, wanting to fight back, wanting things to go back to normal, wanting to stick it to Tord and everything he had put them through. He told them about the army, the base, what they planned to do-- Tom talked until there was nothing left to say, until he was empty and the words just stopped. He hadn’t even tried to hide why they formed this army, because it sure as hell wasn’t for a good cause. They just all wanted to kick Tord’s ass for ruining their lives-- and all he had done so far was inconvenience them at best. It wasn’t a noble cause, it was pure selfishness and Tom knew that.

    “So let me get this straight,” Eduardo leaned back in his chair, refusing to look at his ex neighbor as he spoke. “You came back to find weapons to supply your shitty army with-- an army by the way, that only has three people, and all of those three people are complete and utter morons?”

He looked back down at Tom, something unreadable in his eyes.

    “Did I miss anything, freak?”

Tom shifted awkwardly in in his chair, shaking his head no. He didn’t like not knowing what the other was thinking. It made him feel weak and exposed to someone who probably hated every fiber of his being.

    “Hmph. Well then, it’s your lucky day--” What? “--Because I just happen to know a guy who can get you what you need.”

Toms stared at Eduardo, completely dumbfounded. He had expected to be yelled at. He had expected to be punched, blamed, beaten-- not… Not whatever this was.

    “... How?” Tom didn’t believe this. His luck wasn’t this good. There was no way this would fall into his lap without repercussions.

    “Jon’s sibling was one of those gun-nuts. Nut is an understatement actually. From what Jon sa…. From what Jon used to talk about, that bastard had enough to fuel a private army.”

No. No. No. His luck couldn’t be that good. There had to a be a catch. He was calling bullshit on this deal. Eduardo was going to set this up then give him crap weaponry or refused to give them to Tom unless he killed himself or-- fuck Tom just couldn’t see it being _this_ easy.

   “What’s the catch.” Here it comes--

   “We want in.”

Oh!

Oh...

Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations again to izayaorihara29 for winning! You did a great job as did everyone who entered!
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who entered! I was so moved people liked my fanfic enough to make art for it. It meant so much to me. Thank you. Thank you so much. Literally it had been my dream that someone makes fanart for something I write, so the fact multiple people liked my story enough to enter a contest... I just... words can not express how happy I am.
> 
> \------  
> Thanks again to Aryandiani, who is the savior of this fiction.  
> Also a fun chatting companion!


	9. New Recruits and Dumb (Brilliant) Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eduardo and Mark join the fight against Tord, despite Edd's wishes, and other shenanigans happen.  
> Some light humor.  
> Because everything gets so much darker later on

    “NNOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPEEEE!”

“Edd just listen--”

“No. No. No. Over my dead body, no.”

“That can be arranged, loser.”

“Eduardo shut up-- Edd please--”

This was God’s way of punishing him? Had he done something huge to upset that big bastard and this was his punishment? Stuck in a room with Edd and Matt on one side, and on the other, Mark and Eduardo, playing peacemaker. This was hell. Forget what he had seen when he actually went to hell-- this was true torture.

For the past hour, Tom had been stuck in the rec. room with these four trying to get them all to play nice. He shouldn’t have brought Mark and Eduardo back with him. He cursed himself over and over again for letting that green shirt wearing asshole bully him into it. He had refused to tell Tom how to get in contact with Jon’s sibling unless he and Mark were allowed to join. Tom had nothing to argue back with, they needed those weapons or there would be no rebellion! He had tried to lessen the damage by meeting with Edd and Matt first to butter them up before showing them who their new recruits were. It had worked perfectly until Eduardo got tired of waiting and barged in. Then it all went to shit. Edd and his counterpart throwing insults at one another, Matt and Mark having a beauty contest off to one side-- it was a living nightmare for Tom. He thought they had buried the hatchet when that whole super powers stunt had happened years ago; guess he was wrong. 

“Edd, Please just-- Just put your stupid rivalry aside for one minute and listen to your second in command.” That got Edds attention. He sighed and gave Tom his full assiduity. “Look, I know you two have some weird dick waving contest going on--”

“He started it--”

“Don’t care, shut up.” Edd pouted and went silent. “We NEED him Edd. Without those weapons we can’t fight against Tords army. This isn’t like the zombie invasions were we won by bullshitting our way through. Almost all of Europe has fallen, Asia ain't far behind, and I don’t see America coming to our aid any time soon. Any normal place we COULD get weapons is off the table and on Tords plate. We can not afford to be picky about who wants to offer aid to our dumbass cause. If Eduardo and Mark want to join up for a price, then I say don’t look a bloody gift horse in the mouth-- just take the gift and run with it!”

 

There was a moment of silence, Edd and Tom just staring at one another. This was their first decision when it came to their army. Something outside of their friend group that could affect how everything went. 

Edd knew this. He wasn’t that foolish or egotistical. Sure, he could always put his foot down. He is after all, the leader of the army-- but that would be beyond stupid. Yes, he disliked Eduardo for his cocky attitude and copycat style, but Tom was right. Eduardo was basically handing them what they needed on a  silver platter for a pretty small asking price. Of course Edd would have to deal with him until they won the war-- and that was going to be a HUGE pain in his ass-- but…

“Fine…” Edd crossed his arms and stood up straight, trying to look more like a leader of a rebellion then a guy in a green hoodie who was sulking. “They can join. They have as much reason to hate Tord as we do, I guess…”

Tom wanted to shout with joy. He thought he would have to bribe Edd with a can of coke he had been hiding, but it turned out his friend did have some common sense. Thank the lord! His face however betrayed none of this, remaining as impassive as he could make it.

“Great, then Matt can show them to their-”

“But they have to start at the lowest rank!”

“...” Tom wanted to slam his head into the wall until he lost consciousness. “Edd, we don’t even have ranks beyond Leader, Second-in-Command, and whatever the fuck Matt is.”

“Matt’s a Chief Warrant Officer.” 

    “Since when!?” 

Did Edd even know that they rank meant? Sure, they had all been in the army-- but that had been years ago-- and none of them got beyond the rank of Private First Class because they left right after blowing up some random enemy base. Or had they been dishonorably discharged? Tom could never remember.

“Since three hours ago when I Zoogled army rankings.” That wall was starting to look so tempting. If Tom started hitting his head now maybe he could be unconscientious within three minutes. “I even made a list of our armies rankings.”

Matt handed over a piece of paper to Tom who just groaned and read it over: ‘ _ Private, Captain,  Colonel, General, General of The Army/Second-in-Command, and Green Leader. _ ’ He made a face. Edd had skipped over at least 10 different actual army rankings to make this list-- and why was he general of the army AND second in command? Shouldn’t those be two different things? 

“...I am not calling you Green Leader.”

“Awwww, why not?”

“Because,” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to smash his face into the wall. “That makes you sound too much like ‘him.’ Also, Matt’s rank isn’t even on this list!”

“Oh for the love of-- gimmie that!” Eduardo snatched the paper from Tom’s hand and began to scribble across it, making small notes and edits. “Of course you losers wouldn’t know how to properly rank an army; why am I not freaking surprised!?”

Eduardo thrust the paper back at Tom, glaring at his superior until he sighed and looked down at the modified listing. It was actually an improvement. Now it read:  _ Private, First Lieutenant, Captain, Warrant Officer, Chief Warrant Officer, Lieutenant General, General, General of The Army (second-in-command), Chief of Staff (Edd).  _ While it only could be compared to an abridged version of army rankings, it did flow a little better then what Edd had wrote. At least the title of Green Leader had been dropped-- thank god. Sure, he was still stuck as General of The Army, but at least it made a little more sense now. Sort of. Either title-- second-in-command or general of the army-- was a damn mouthful, and sounded like a lot of work he didn’t know how to do. But Eduardo seemed to know a good bit about this sort of stuff. Had he been in the army before? It wouldn’t surprise Tom given how similar their groups were.

“Fine, then Eduardo is now a General.”

“W-what-- you can’t-- he is--” Edd spluttered, grasping at words through his indignity. Eduardo looked pretty surprised at this statement as well but chose not to say anything.

“HE knew enough to make a ranking form that made sense, so obviously he knows what he is doing. As--” He looked down at the paper, searching for his official title. “-- General Of The Army, aka your SECOND-IN-COMMAND, I say because he knows his shit, he gets that rank.”

“Lieutenant General! He JUST got here!”

“Ugh fine, close enough!” Tom rolled his ‘eyes’ and turned to his friends green shirt counterpart. “Congratulations, you just signed up in the world's shittiest army since Italy last tried to have one. Welcome aboard Lieutenant General.”

 

* * *

The first few weeks had been rough. Walking on eggshells could not describe the amount of tension between the two groups. Tom had been so stressed out that he found the ghost voice of Tord to be more soothing than what was going on around him. 

Yes, it had come back. Tom was actually surprised it had left him alone for this long. It was… Different now. Of course it still mocked him, but now it also tried to hold conversations. Tom supposed it was just him talking to part of his brain, but it was still really weird. He tried not to respond to its quips when in public, already fearing for his sanity. He really should tell someone about this.

Thankfully after the weapons shipment arrived, things between the groups started to get a little better. Eduardo had not been kidding when he said Jon’s sibling was a gun nut. Tom had expected your standard handguns and maybe one or two semi’s. What they got was a box load of Beretta M9 Pistols, ten M252 Mortars, six M16A2 5.56 Rifles, three XM2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifles, and a M134 GAU-17 Gatling Gun. A gatling gun. This insane bastard had a gatling gun and was just giving it to them so they could get vengeance for Jon. HOW in seven fucking hells had this man even gotten a hold of these?! Tom was pretty sure owning eighty percent of these were illegal in England. In most countries, actually! 

Matt had been forbidden from going anywhere NEAR them or where they were going to be stored. Everyone agreed that giving Matt a fully loaded gun was a very, very bad idea; and that he should only be given one if the base were ever to be under attack. Baring that, Matt was not allowed within hundred feet of the weapons locker room. 

 

But that small issue aside, they now had their guns and tensions were starting to deflate. Mark and Matt were getting along rather well, seeming to find common ground in being ‘handsome.’ Thankfully, unlike their friend, Mark was not as dumb as a kitchen shelf and could actually hold a decent conversation. He even had common sense. Leading Tom to assigning him the rank of Warrant Officer so he could keep an eye on Matt. Edd hadn’t been to pleased about that sudden jump in rank, but once Tom convinced him that this was a good idea (neither of them would have to babysit Matt as often,) Edd let it slide. 

Even  Eduardo was starting to fit in. Of course Matt liked him, too dumb to even understand the word ‘tension.’ But aside from the cold glares Tom got every now and then, he liked the double too. Yeah, he was cocky and his Brooklyn accent was annoying as fuck, but, he was a good general. He could shoot pretty damn well, understood strategy enough for him and Tom to hash out plans of attack, and actually listened to Tom’s advice. Didn’t stop him from having shitty taste in everything else, nor did it stop him and Edd from arguing about almost every little thing-- but by this point it was just white noise to everyone else. 

It was sort of funny how quickly they all seemed to fall into one messed up barely functioning group: Mark and Matt on one of the sofas in the recreational room, sewing the uniforms-- Edd and Eduardo having a shooting competition in the practice room every other day-- and Tom just going back and forth doing odd jobs. It wasn’t perfect; they had loads of arguments and often times almost came to blows-- but to Tom it felt like home. It was misshapen, clumsy, and so quickly smashed together that this was probably the worst rebellion ever in the history of rebellions. But it was theirs.

 

* * *

Their first mission came about a month and a half after  Eduardo and Mark’s arrival. By this point they had formed a sort of cancerous symbiotic relationship with one another; functioning enough to at least attempt a strike against the Red Army. 

Speaking of their enemy, things had deteriorated on the actual war front since the start of their ‘rebellion.’ Europe, Scandinavia, the Middle East, Asia, and a large part of Africa had all fallen to the Red Army. While Europe had been on it’s last legs when Edd, Matt, and Tom had bought their base, the Middle East and Africa had been driving back Tord’s army at every turn, Africa having been left mostly alone at that point. No one was really sure what caused them all to suddenly cower before the Red Leader, but Tom had a working theory it had to do with that stupid mecha of his. It rarely ever saw combat-- Tord seeming only to use it if things on the battlefront turned sour or when he grew tired of waiting. Tom guessed he got bored and couldn’t wait any longer. No a great sign for them if Tord was already impatient with his progress for world domination. Tom guessed something had changed and made the man antsy, but he hadn’t the faintest idea as to what caused this sudden shift. He’d figure it out later, because as of last week, the Red Army had started to take ground in England-- which meant they needed to get off their asses and start fighting back.

 

The mission was simple: Sneak into the Red Army camp in the dead of night, poison their food, and get the fuck out. Pretty easy, right? Only it wasn’t. The enemies camp was all the way at the English Channel, and they were all the way in the English countryside. They also only had two small civilian cars to transport them. For the life of him, Tom could not figure out a way to get them close enough to the front lines without getting shot to shit or pulled over for carrying a butt load of guns. Or somehow losing their ONLY methods of transport in a firefight if things went bad. He had called in Eduardo to help, but even he couldn’t think of a way to get them there without being spotted by either army, leaving both men in a pickle. They had to act soon before Red took more ground and gained the upper hand. It was much harder to sneak in and poison a food supply when a large number of soldiers were there. If they struck now while only the front lines were camped, they actually stood a chance of dealing a blow to weaken the Red Army. Or at least catch them off guard long enough for the British army to kick them out of England.

“What if… We drive all night and… Stop about 4 miles away from the front lines and--”

“And what?! Park the car in the no-fighting/bombing zone?! Ask the British army if we can use their parking lot while we go rogue?” Tom glared at Eduardo. Damn him and his common sense.

“Ok. What if we… Drive and stop really, really far away and walk to the enemy camp?”

“God, you are an idiot! Do you think we can walk over ten miles in a day?! Not to mention the weapons strapped to us would be a huge freaking warning sign to anyone who saw us!”

Tom groaned, slumping over the table.

“Then YOU come up with something.”

They had been at this for hours and hadn’t broken any ground. Every plan Tom came up with Eduardo would shoot down with a clear reason as to why it wouldn’t work. Why couldn’t this just be like the movies and be easy!?

Tom was in the processes of banging his head against the table when Matt walked in, broken mirror in hand and giving the two strategists a look that said; ‘listen to my problems.’ Tom tried to hit his head harder against the metal.

“No Matt, go bother Mark. I don’t have time for whatever bullshit you have going on.”

“But I haven’t even told you my problem yet!” Matt slammed the mirror down on the table, causing shards to fly from the impact. Eduardo barely managed to dodge out of the way, glaring at the ginger. 

“We don’t care loser!” The general swiped the broken mirror away before Matt could accidentally hurt anyone. “We’re busy-- so amscray.” 

“But it’s a _ really _ important problem!”

Tom grabbed for his flask, already able to tell that nothing either of them could say would make him leave. He twisted the cap off, tilted his head back, and downed every drop of vodka the flask contained before focusing back on Matt. Best to humor him and get it over with.

“FINE. What is your ‘problem.” 

He should really start keeping multiple flasks on hand because at the rate Matt was yammering on and on. He was going to sober up before the ginger even got to the point.

“-- So Mark and I started arguing about who had a more handsome chin-- obviously it was me-- so he grabbed on of the mirrors off my wall and and I told him to put it back--” Tom glanced over at Eduardo who looked like he wanted to stab his eardrums. He sympathized. “-- we were tugging back and forth on my mirror when it slipped from our grasps and shattered to the floor--”

Tom double checked his flask. Maybe there was a drop of Smirnoff left in it, something to distract him from the world's longest and dullest story. His lieutenant general looked like he was about to strangle Matt if he didn’t get to the point. Tom considered helping him.

“-- And that was my favorite mirror I got as a gift from those weird underground people. You know the ones who all could have used a good tan and a sense of fashion? So I told him we had to go back to get another one because that one was made of special gems to make my face glow when I looked in it. And he said I was making up the whole underground people story up and that if I didn’t show him he wouldn’t believe me--”

“Matt!” Tom slammed his flask down on the table, sending maps and failed sketches flying across the surface, “Get to. The. POINT.”

    “...Can-I-have-Edd’s-car-keys-so-Mark-and-I-can-go-visit-those-weird-mole-people-and-get-a-new-mirror-and-prove-him-wrong?”

Tom stared at Matt for a long moment. He then turned to Eduardo see if he had heard right-- he had. Then looked back at Matt. He just wanted the damn car keys?! He could have just said so-- wait.

“Wait… You want the car keys… To go visit the mole people we ran into almost a year ago?”

“Yeah!”

“The ones we traded a statue of you to for food?” Tom could see it now. The pieces of a plan slowly falling into place.

“Yea-- wait, what?”

“Holy guacamole on a cannoli-- Matt you are a moronic genius!” 

Tom snatched up the nearest piece of paper and began to write out a new form of attack. One that if all went well, they could keep using and always have the advantage with. He handed-- well he really shove the new plan into Eduardos hands. The lieutenant general scanned it over, looking shocked and confused before finally, impressed. YES! This could work! If he didn’t hate Matt so much he would hug the ever loving shit out of him! The Red Army would never see them coming-- hell no one would! Prepared to have your ass handed to you Tord! 

Tom was practically cackling in his seat before literally being knocked out of it by Matt.

“What the hell!?”

“YOU SOLD MY STATUE?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my lovely editor, who saved this fic from so many errors. So many.


	10. Three and Half Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I caved and posted this chapter earlier then I planned to.  
> DAMN YOU PEER PRESSURE.
> 
> \--------
> 
> It's been almost four years, the rebellion is going strong- having some issues- but they are keeping Tord out of England, so that is a win.
> 
> \------
> 
> Radio Code names (only some of which appear in this chapter)  
> Edd- Smeg Head  
> Eduardo- Numero Uno  
> Matt- Zombie Chief  
> Mark- Spanish Bandit  
> Tom- Bowling Ball

A lot can happen in one thousand two hundred and seventy seven-- six--? days. One minute you’re coming up with an insane plan to assault a Red Army camp in the dead of night, and the next thing you know you’re the only force keeping them out of England. Literally. About a year into their stint of being a ‘rebellion’ (Tom refused to call it that because a rebellion implied that they were fighting their current government, not Tords) the British army had been decimated by a sneak attack from the Red Leader and his war machine, along with most of the nation's cabinet members. The mech had flown under the radar, swooping in on a cloudy day and raining down hellfire upon parliament. As the government officials screams echoed loud among the flames, the robot had flown off to take care of the military bases.

There had been whispers about it being an inside job, that the mecha should have been spotted and shot down long before it reached so deep into England. Nothing could be proven however. Anyone who might have tried to look into it was dead and the rest were in hiding. The nation was in shambles. The only reason England hadn’t fallen was because of _their_ secret little rebel army keeping the Red Army out at every turn.

Those mole people hadn’t dicked around when they built their tunnels. Spreading all across England-- even into parts of Wales and Ireland. Their small fighting force could go anywhere and never be detected by the Reds. After all, who would think to look underground for an army? Their numbers had also skyrocketed over the past three years as well, going from five to over five hundred. Anyone who managed to survive the carnage of the former British Army had hopped right on board with theirs. Before the attack on their nation, recruiting had been slow; only one or two joining every other month. Edd had blamed bad PR, but Tom knew that no one with a sane mind would want to go back to war. War sucked. Plain and simple. But after the attack… Rage and revenged burned deep in everyone's hearts. So when Matt came to them, telling them all about a secret army dedicated to fighting the Red Army-- they lept at the chance to join.

Sure, they were still small-- especially when compared to the Red, Chinese, and Russian armies-- but they were at least a decent size. Like, if Switzerland still had army, they would have numbered about half of that. They had expanded so much that new bases had to be acquired-- though all of them were underground. The mole people seemed to have fled when the fighting started, leaving all their homes, shelters, tunnels, and well-- everything. So once room became scarce at their cola factory base, everything started to move downwards. Now the cola base was only used for new recruits, recreation, and general planning. The rest was underground.

 

Never in his wildest dreams had Tom ever expected this to work-- they didn’t even have an official name for their army yet! How was this working?! Sure, they had plenty of nicknames: the Saviors, the Green Scourge, the Peacocks (because of their color scheme apparently,) and a bunch of other dumb crap. But never had the three of them sat down to come up with an official name for their army. It had surprisingly slipped their minds at the start, and once things got going, the whole naming thing just got pushed to the back burner. Not that anyone was complaining, but Tom did not like being called a Peacock Savior or whatever. However, just going by the title of ‘Rebel Army’ was sort of boring. Red Army had a nice ring to it. Not original, but it sounded better then ‘the Peacock army.’ The whole lack of an official name also made it hard for them to ‘advertise.’ While their army had grown, it still wasn’t enough. They needed more men and women-- or whatever-- to take on Tord’s army. Putting up posters with their insignia just wasn’t enough. Matt and Edd had sort of been banking on their enemies coming up with a cool name for them, but each name they heard sounded rather lame. (Peacock and green scourge were great examples of that).

 

But that really was just a side issue that Tom could ignore for now. The main issue on hand was feeding their ever growing army. Because Tord couldn’t take England-- nor could he bomb their fighting forces to dust since he couldn’t FIND them-- he had taken to blocking the country from receiving any sort of aid. Food was starting to run low, and no matter how much any of them tried, growing food under ground was harder than it looked. Mostly because the soil down there wasn’t meant for farming, but also because the lack of sunlight. Tom’s current solution to this problem was digging out and repairing some of the older mole people’s tunnels to Scandinavia and raiding the Red Army’s supplies there. It was working, construction was all on schedule, but was taking longer than he would have liked. Apparently Scandinavia was not as close as it appeared on the map. So, until the new tunnels were complete, they would have to focus on raiding the Red Army camps that tried to sneak into England for food, which were starting to lessen as time went on.

   

So here he was; in the passenger seat of a beat up green, purple, and blue painted truck, driving down an insanely long dark underground tunnel, map in hand as he tried to give directions to their destination.

    “No I am telling you, it is the next left turn--”

    “And I am telling YOU we go right,” Eduardo sneered, slowing the vehicle as they approached a fork in the road.

    “Right would take us towards London! We are trying to get to Dover, not the damn city!”

    “Says the man reading the freaking map upside down!”

    “I am no--” Tom looked down at the map and frowned. Shit. He was holding it wrong. He flipped the map. “-- Fuck.”

    “HA!”

Eduardo took the turn, two vans following them down the right tunnel. The second in command rolled his lack of eyes, squishing down into the seat. He hated going on missions with the ‘look-alike’--almost as much as he hated missions with Matt. But it wasn’t like he had a lot of options to choose from when it came missions with the ‘original’ crew. Edd wasn’t allowed to go on missions with him, and while it sucked, Tom agreed he shouldn’t. Having their two highest ranked men in the field at the same time could end very poorly. So even though he wanted to-- because everyone else got on his nerves-- missions with Edd were never going to happen. Not any more at least. They hadn’t been on a mission together since the early days of founding their rebellion, sneaking into Red Army bases to steal their weapons, or poison their food. Or that one time where Edd took all their pants. Tom smiled at the memories.

The ride remained silent for the most part. Pity radios signals didn’t work down here. Sometimes one of the warrant officers would try to speak up, get conversation going. Tom tried to recall their name... Yaoi? Yuri? It was something like that. No, wait-- Yui. He really should remember that one's name, she had just been promoted last weekend. Now she was a Lieutenant General, operating under Eduardo’s authority. (Eduardo had gotten a promotion almost a year and half ago and was now directly stationed under his command as a General.) Tom didn’t interact with her much because of that, but his general and her seemed to get on well enough. She was able to take his bullshit rather calmly and in stride, even able to talk him down. (A miracle according to Mark, apparently only Jon had been able to do that.) Which was probably why she had been appointed this mission: Because whenever Tom and Eduardo had the same assignment together, things often got... Heated. The last mission they had gone on ended with a literal dick measuring contest while shooting bottles off of dead Red Army soldiers heads and three of their own men injured. Edd hadn’t been pleased. Tom guessed Yui was there to act more as a babysitter to him and Eduardo’s rather then a lieutenant general.

 

Tom was starting to wish he had brought _S_ _usan_ along, even though he loathed the idea of her ever leaving his room. She was safe there, locked up tight and hidden away from where Edd or Matt could break her. Again. He was starting to drift off when the car came to a sudden stop, jolting him out of his tired daze.

    “We’re h--”

    “Here-- ya’ no shit.” He grumbled and hopped out of the car, making sure his M-16 was strapped safe across his back and his flash light was on. Tom, unlike others, was required to always have one on him while in the tunnels. A hard lesson learned, after almost being shot by one of his own men. Without eyes, he was literally able to blend into the dark, and that was cause for a few scares. So after almost being riddled by bullets several times, Edd deemed he wasn’t allowed down there without some sort of light.

    “Everyone ready?”

A choir of ‘yes, sir’s’ filled the air. Tom nodded and motioned for them to follow, leading the way to the tunnels exit. The cavern was dark, illuminated only by his flashlight and the few glow sticks at his men's sides. Eduardo walked a few feet behind him, whispering orders for a position change. The sound of feet echoed softly as places were changed and the guns unaltered, ready to fire at a moment's notice. There was a general ease about the group. This wasn’t their first rodeo, but experience taught them not to be overly cocky. Just because the Red’s didn’t know they were coming didn’t mean they couldn’t get a few good hits in before going down.

Tom killed the light as they approached the entrance. He took a quick sip from his flask before signaling the two privates nearest him to get the ‘door’ open. They scurried past, each taking a grasp on the thick metal handle of the portal and began to pull it open. With slow tired crunches, the steel frame began to move, light spilling into the dark tunnel and blinding them all for a moment before their eyes adjusted. After a few more tugs, the ‘door’ was open just enough for them to each slide through one at a time. Eduardo went first to scout ahead and make sure the coast was clear. Yui stood by Tom side, gun at the ready in case her superior returned with foul news. Eduardo radioed in the all clear. Next followed the first platoon, second taking up the rear along with Tom. Three men were left behind to guard the entrance way in case anything should happen.

    “If we aren’t back three hours and no signal has been given, lock down the entrance and return to base.” Tom hated saying that. Every time it made his guts tighten, the idea that something could go wrong. That all these people could die because of him. He didn’t need another Jon hanging on his conscience-- or another Tord for that matter.

They saluted and Tom made his way over to his general. Judging by their latest intel, the Red Army camp should only be about a mile's walk from their current location. Not too bad. Compared to the last mission where the tunnel only got them 5 miles away from the attack site, this would be a cake walk.

   

    It was literally a cake walk. Well, not literally-- but for Tom this had to have been the easiest hike to a mission yet. The ground was flat, trees covered their movements, and no one had stumbled into any poison ivy this time! (Don’t ask.) Even Eduardo couldn’t find something to bitch about. They made killer time too, spotting the base about fifteen minutes into the hike. Tom signal for the men to stop, Lieutenant Yui taking out her rifle and scoping out the Red Army’s security defenses.

    “Small bunch, sir. About… Fifty men? Seems to be more of a scouting party then full frontal attack unit. Two men watching on each parameter.”

    “So what, eight night guards total?” Yui nodded. “Ok, I want our snipers to take them out first-- don’t let anyone of them escape and sound the alarm.”

His general nodded and pointed to four of their men, signaling them to get into positions. Tom watched as they moved, hunkering close to the ground or climbing up into the trees to get a better vantage point. Yui handed over the rifle to Tom before returning to her general’s side, allowing him to scope out the camp before giving the order.

    “Once they fire I want us to move in quick before anyone can find those bodies.” He paused. One of the guards had moved. Tom tensed, worrying for a minute that someone had been spotted, but all he saw was a shift change. Letting out the breath he had been unknowingly holding, Tom waiting for a good three minutes before giving the signal. “Fire.”

Tom watch the first two guards go down in sync, then the ones closer to the back of the camp followed one by one, but  the last two were a bit messy. The first one was a clean kill, bullet to the head. Their partner however had moved and the kill shot missed. Thankfully they seemed to panic when they saw their dead comrade, allowing for their sniper to recover and get a clean hit in the back of the head. Tom handed the rifle back to Yui who in turn handed it over to her superior (seemed like she would be joining the frontal assault then,) ordering for Eduardo and the snipers to stay behind and cover their backs.

First and second squad surged forward, Tom leading them into the heart of the encampment. With the lookouts gone, getting in was easy. They kept to the tents, making sure not to go too far in. They only had one shot to catch their enemies off guard, because to no one's surprise, the one thing the ‘rebel army’ still lacked in their arsenal was silencers. Any bullet fired prematurely could screw everything up.

They hunkered low as two Red Army soldiers past by, waiting on Tom’s orders. He motioned for them to hold fire, waiting for the two men to walk off before signaling them to move on. Once closer to the center of the camp, everyone got into formation, first squad close the ground with second squad above and covering. Tom readed his own gun and brought it to eye level.

    “Remember, shoot only those in uniform. And in case you forgot what those look like, they are a crappy rip off of America’s stupid Revolutionary War bullshit.” A soft chuckle from Yui and a few of his men was all Tom needed to know that they were ready. “Fire away.”

 

If more adversaries had been present, Tom would have described it as a blood bath. But given the number was ranging around fifty, it was more like a blood puddle. The Red Army had scrambled to take cover once they realized what was going on. Most seemed to have fallen during the first volley, but those that had survived were getting their shit together and trying to fight back. But they were too scattered to form a proper defense. Most couldn’t even get to proper weapons, having only their standard issued knife to defend themselves with.

Tom signaled for his squad to break apart. It was time to hunt down any stragglers. They broke off into groups of twos or threes, going after any Reds that tried to flee. A group of four along with lieutenant general, stayed with Tom to search the camp for any prisoners or rations.

 

Tom ignored the occasional gun shot or two in the background, scouring the tents for anything useful with his men. They stumbled across one tent that contained a good number of rations and some extra medical kits-- always useful but it wasn’t enough.

With a sigh, Tom told his men and lieutenant to take what they could to the edge of camp. They would take it all back later once they properly cleaned the site. What he did find in bulk was a shit ton of Red Army propaganda bullshit. Of fucking course Tord would try that brainwashing crap. The pamphlets talked about the glory of being a nation under the Red Leader and his goals-- Tom took a long piss on the papers and left them to go find something worth his time.

     “Hey Numero Uno--” Tom radioed. “Catch any stragglers trying to flee the sight?”

There was a crackling sound before Eduardo responded.

     “Negative, Bowling Ball.” Tom wanted to punch who ever gave him his code name. Oh right. Matt. Fuck Matt.

While Tom pocketed the radio, muttering profanities about their Chief Warrant Officer, Yui approached him.

    “Sir, we have found something you might be interested in.”

    “Is it a butt load of food and a shit ton of vodka?” She shook her head no, seeming rather upset at not finding anything delicious to eat. Tom could sympathize there. Military rations sucked. “Just… Show me whatever it is that is so important.”

Yui nodded and lead the way. They made their way through the ruined camp, walking by dozens of corpses in dark blue peacoats now stained red. Tom fumbled for his flask, needing something to help settle his stomach. Killing still wasn’t easy for him. He could keep face easily enough. The lieutenant glanced back him, looking for a long moment at the flask before facing forward once more. The short girl said nothing but Tom could tell she wanted to. Giving an order to kill was simple, so long as he didn’t see what his commands were causing. What did she know? She hadn’t been in the army before all this bullshit, she had just joined up to help England when the British army denied her the chance to do so. Maybe it was easier for her to deal with it, but for Tom it wasn’t. Then again, maybe he was just overthinking things. He was drinking while on active duty-- maybe that is what she wanted to chide him about. He wasn’t supposed to drink while in the field, but he was second in command-- screw the rules. Who knows. Tom wasn’t about to bring it up.

But… Walking through the aftermath… It was always hard. He was pretty sure some of these fanatics deserved a bullet to the head-- but probably more than half were just suckers who signed  up to the Red Army for benefits to help their families. War sucked. He took a long, long swig from the flask before putting it away.

    “We found a prisoner. Claims to have been captured a few days ago when he snuck into the base to get food.” Yui broke the silence, choosing to ignore the fact her superior had been drinking.

    “Ballsy guy. Did he get shot?”

    “No. Seemed he hit the deck when the bullets started firing. Must have saved his life because we found him near the command center. They were probably about to interrogate him.”

 

Shit, that guy was pretty damn lucky then. The Red Army wasn’t known for its kindness towards prisoners, preferring torture to general interrogation to get a hold of information. The soldiers who had come from the British army told horror stories about those who had been captured. No one ever came back sane… Or alive. Whoever this guy was, their sneak attack might have just saved his life. Or at least his sanity.

Yui led him to the former command center, holding open the tent flaps for Tom to enter. Two privates of his squad stood at either side, guarding the door. They nodded when he entered before focusing their attention back on the prisoner. He didn’t seem like much. Long brown hair that winged in front of his face, large brown eyes, average build, common civil clothing. Lady lucky must have really liked this guy for some reason to spare him from an accidental bullet to the head. Or chest. Or whatever. Aside from some minor scrapes and dirt smudged across his clothes, the survivor looked unharmed.  

    “Here.” Tom held out his flask, there wasn’t much in it but there was enough to calm a shaking civilian down. There was a moment of hesitation before the former captive took the canteen and drank from it. He flinched at the taste, coughed, and handed it back.

    “A… Are you the army?” His voice was a bit more accented than expected-- one Tom couldn’t quite place.

    “Nope. Well-- sorta. We aren’t the BRITISH army if that’s what you are asking.”

He held a hand out. The brown haired man hesitated once again before taking it, being gently pulled to his feet.

    “So… Wh-Who are you guys?”

Tom noticed how twitchy the guy was, eyes darting about the tent to look for a way out. The soldiers guarding the front didn’t seem to help his anxiety either. Tom motioned for them to go. They glanced at one another, unsure if this was a wise idea before stepping outside.

    “Just some guys with a grudge.” Tom answered after the two left. Damn, they really should look into that whole naming thing. As cool as that line sounded, it was waayyy too vague. “I’m Tom, by the way. Hope my men didn’t uh… Well… Give you PTSD with our attack.”

God that was a horrible thing to say-- bad time for humor. But to his surprise, the prisoner smiled and actually laughed at his shitty joke.

    “Thankfully not. I was startled to hell, but more than grateful you came to my aid-- even if it was unknowingly. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t attacked when you did.”

That was beyond an understatement. Tom took a seat on one of the fold out chairs, motioning for the survivor to do the same.

    “So, wanna tell me what gave you the bright idea to raid a Red Army encampment?”

The smile slipped from his face, looking down at the ground, hands clenched tight. Tom wondered if he had struck a sensitive spot, awkwardly looking away.

    “Hunger. Since the army-- the British army fell-- getting supplies has been hard and…” There was a long moment of silence. The man seemed to be internally struggling with what to say. Tom just waited and toyed with his flask. The guy would tell him on his own time-- there was no need to force it out of him. “...I used to be part of the Red Army-- a few years ago. I fled after they invaded France, sneaking on board a boat to England and have been living here ever since. I had hoped the war would end in a few years and that I could go back to my country but…”

Tom nodded his head in understanding. A lot of people had come here hoping for a quick escape, only to be greatly disappointed when that quick escape turned into a permanent stay.

    “I heard talk about a base close by and I was so hungry that I just thought… I thought that because I used to be in the army, I could get in and out without anyone knowing I was there. I knew their general setup and time shifts-- I thought it would easy!” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I guess they changed guard shift times around from an hour to every 45 minutes… My dumb luck that one of the commanders recognized me. He used to be my former captain. I was about to be… Interrogated…. When you all came in and started shooting.”

    “Shit.” Tom wasn’t sure what to say to that. This guy literally was the luckiest bastard on the planet. Or a close 4th-- after himself, Edd, and Matt. “Guess we saved your ass.”

    “Heh. Guess you did.”

His radio buzzed. Tom excused himself, putting some distance between himself and the survivor as a he answered.

    “What’s up?”

    “All the useful shit has been moved to the cars. Ready to head out Bowling Ball?” Eduardo’s snear could practically be heard over the radio.

    “Ugghhh. Stop calling me that, dickhead.”

    “Stop calling you what, loser? Bowling Ball-- your code name?”

    “Edu-- Uno-- I swear to god if you don’t shut your fat mouth right now I am going to--”

    “Bowling, Uno,” Yui’s voice cut in over the radio. “I believe this is a discussion to be held in private, back at base.”

    “He started it!” Tom protested, completely forgetting about the civilian watching him in mute confusion.

    “I don’t care sir.” There was a pause. “Can you… Just please deal with it back at base? Please?”

Tom sighed. He wanted to protest more, to point out how Eduardo was only using that code name to get on his nerves. But honestly, when Yui was like this it was like talking to a sad puppy. Not an upset puppy, mind you-- one that was pathetically sad. That had just been kicked so many times you couldn’t help but feel bad for doing more damage to it. He grumbled and let the argument drop. For now.

    “...Yeah, we’re ready. Just have to drop a civilian off at the closest town then we can g--”

    “W-wait!” Tom startled and turned to the other. “I…. Please let me join you!”

Tom silenced his radio, turning his full attention onto the survivor. This, he had not expected. Most people wanted out of the war, not back in.

    “...Why do you want to join us? You did just meet us-- we could be some sort of cult.”

    “B-B… Because…” The man clenched his fists. “I am tired of running. I ran from my country, I ran from the Red Army, and I ran from the fight, but… But it didn’t change anything. Not for me at least. I… I owe you for saving me and… And I guess I owe myself this too.”

Alarmed, Tom stumbled back when the survivor came and bowed before him, head pressed hard against the dirt ground.

    “--So please let me join! I promise that anything I know about the Red Army I will tell you! Just… Let me do this!…”

Shit. Tom sighed, kneeling down and pulling the guy upright. That was a pretty hard declaration to say no to. Transporting this guy back to base was going to be annoying as fuck though.

    “You don’t have to beg, ok? I’m not that Red Leader fuck. Giving me a reason why is enough for you to join.” Tom stood up, pulling the other guy up with him. “So relax. You’re in or whatever. On probation of course bu--”

Tom didn’t even get to finish his sentence, a tight hug cutting him off. He gave the guy an awkward pat on the back, carefully maneuvering out of his grasp. He never was good at this physical contact shit-- that was more of Edds’ field of expertise.

    “Thank you! Thank you so much! I promise you won't regret this!”

Tom rolled his lack of eyes and motioned for the new recruit to follow him out of the tent. Sure, it was one more mouth to feed, but on the bright side, now they had someone who could give them working intel on the Red Army-- even if it was a little dated. All their past attempts to collect information had ended with the prisoners committing suicide-- so the fact a former Red Army soldier was going to willingly give them information-- Tom thought it was a fair trade.

Tom paused as they exited the tent, Yui and the other soldiers falling instep behind. Fuck he had forgotten to ask the guys name. Damn it, he had to get better at that. Bad enough he had almost forgotten Yui’s name, someone he saw almost constantly due to her being Eduardo’s second in command. Edd had been telling him to get better at that, something about moral and shit. He tried to smoothly slip it into the conversation

    “So what's your name, soldier?” So smooth.

    “Patryck. You can call me Patryck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my editor, Aryandiani, who catches all my dumb mistakes.
> 
> Also the alternative title to the next chapter is called "Patryck is a Lying Little Shit."  
> I am gonna name it something better but that's the working title.


	11. Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Patryck's point of view.  
> All I have to say on this chapters summary.  
> Alternate title was: "Patryck is a Lying Little Shit"

    “Patryck. You can call me Patryck.”

 

Patryck wanted to scream. For almost four years he had been looking for them. Three and half years of scouring all of England, from the cities to the country sides, and he hadn’t found hide nor hair of those three bastards. Every month, for the past one thousand two hundred and seventy seven-- six?-- days he had to report to Red Leader and tell him that once again, he had found nothing. And each time he had to squirm under the cold anger of his leader's gaze. He hated failing him, the only feeling he could compare it to was letting down a parent. A parent who dished out harsh punishments for failure but a parent nonetheless.

Worse was how important these three were to Tord. Patryck had seen how stressed his leader was over them and he vowed to find them… Only to fail time and time again.

He had been a ball of stress returning to the camp once again empty handed, things in England were not going at all as planned. After the British army and parliament fell, the nation was supposed to go down with it. Instead, a group of rebel fighters had appeared out of nowhere, trouncing their army with surprise attacks. According to reports they literally came out of nowhere and vanished equally as quick with no one in the Red Army having a clue at how they were doing this. Tord had been furious. A lot of this anger came at Patryck when he reported in with more bad news, taking all his leaders insults in stride. Tord didn’t mean them, he was just under a lot of pressure. This rebel group hadn’t been planned for.

Patryck worried about Paul. He would sometimes say things without thinking, and without him there to hold Tord back… He hoped his friend was alright. Patryck needed Paul, more than he would like admit. The other man was his better half in many ways, always there with a funny thing to say or just a kind shoulder to lean on. Paul and Patryck had been together since childhood and without him… Patryck didn’t want to think about that.

 

Needless to say, when Patryck sat down at the radio, ready to deliver his report; he was on the verge of having a panic attack-- thinking about how his bad news would upset Red Leader and how Paul might suffer. He was almost grateful when the sound of gunfire filled the air, relaxing him and reminding him of his old training days. Until he remember that there was no training drill for the night. Cursing, he lept from his seat and rushed to the tents entrance before thinking better and doubling back around. Given how close the shots were, it meant whoever they were, were already deep into the camp and advancing at an alarming rate. Patryck snatched up any documents he could find, throwing them into a large pile on the ground. Pulling a spare lighter Paul had given him from his pocket, he quickly set the files a blaze. Whoever they were, he wasn’t going to let them get their hands on important documents. He did a quick scan of the room to make sure nothing else of value was in it before sneaking out the back to make his escape.

Of course he hadn’t made it far, getting caught by two enemy soldiers not even twenty feet away from the tent. He had been prepared to fight his way out when they lowered their weapons. Confused by their reaction, he left his hidden gun untouched, allowing them to approach. They had asked if he was unharmed, if there were anymore Red’s nearby. Patryck hadn’t understood, then it hit him: They had mistaken him for a civilian! He wasn’t wearing his uniform because he had only just returned from his latest undercover stint, so of course they would assume the guy dressed in dirty casual wear wasn’t a soldier. Patryck couldn’t believe his luck, quickly spinning a yarn about how he had been captured by the ‘vile’ Red Army. They ate it up, giving him pitying looks and telling him it would be alright now.

 

And this is why he wanted to scream. Because right after they had brought him back to the tent he had just run from (thankfully the papers were just blackened ash now,) in stepped that black eyed man he had been searching almost four years for.

ALMOST. FOUR. FUCKING. YEARS. He had looked for this bastard and here he was, standing right in front of him buying every little bullshit tale he told. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. The man he had been searching so long for was leading the rebellion against Tord-- that was just so fucking unfair. No wonder he couldn’t find him! If Red Leader and his army couldn’t find these rebel bastards then how was he supposed to!? Patryck wanted to strangle-- what was his name again? Right, Tom-- right there and then for causing him so much trouble. Patryck had to channel all his anger into a hug instead, shaking a little from his contained rage. Whatever Tord had planned for this asshole, Patryck hopped it hurt.

 

The only highlight of this revelation was that Patryck was now an inside man for Red Leader. He would crumble their operations from the inside out if it was the last thing he ever did. Of course this wasn’t his original mission, but this was an opportunity he just couldn’t pass up! Yes, Tord would be mad at him but… Patryck had to take this chance if it meant finding the other two and crippling this rebellion.

Personally, Patryck didn’t see what was so deadly about the eyeless man, so far he seemed like a nice guy. A bit of a moron for believing him so easily, but otherwise nothing to worry about. Then again, he had just annihilated a Red Army squadron of fifty five men in under thirty minutes, so maybe the whole ‘nice guy’ bit was an act? Either way, Patryck would find out soon enough.

 

They had taken walked him back through the woods when things got… Odd. Tom’s general-- a guy who looked a lot like his other target but who wasn’t quite the same-- had insisted on blindfolding him. Tom had agreed, apologizing to him for the rudeness but maintained it was for a good reason. Needing their trust, Patryck agreed to the condition. It wasn’t like he was defenseless, he still had his gun hidden away.

From there they carefully walked him through the woods to… He wasn’t sure where. He heard a creaking of a large door then the ground went from soft grass to hard dirt beneath his feet. A warehouse? (No, he would have remembered seeing one so close to the camp). He was lead into a car and then the world's longest drive took place. Maybe it was because he was blindfolded and having lost one sense made everything feel off, but Patryck could have sworn they were driving for hours. It was bumpy too. If he hadn’t been buckled in he would have been jostled all across the back seat. He thought maybe they were driving down a back road or across a field but that wasn’t possible. The former camp had been surrounded by forest, no car could make it through the dense trees. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Every time he tried to come up with a rational reason for how they had snuck up on the site, common sense kicked the idea away.

Patryck was jarred from his thoughts when the car came to a sudden stop, almost banging his head against the passenger seat. Escorted carefully out of the car, they lead him still blinded folded up a steep incline.

Now he was really lost. Where the hell was he in England that went from forest to shitty road to hill to-- the ground changed from earth to pavement, causing Patryck to stumble before catching himself. Yup, he had no idea where he was. Even if he looked at a map he probably couldn’t find his location!

The blindfold was removed and Patryck couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was in a factory, or at least, what used to be one. Now there were soldiers everywhere, running drills, fixing weapons-- some were doing karaoke in the next room. What the fuck. There wasn’t a factory anywhere NEAR the seaside-- hell the closest one was on the outskirts of London hundreds of miles away and there was NO way they could have gotten to it via they route they went. Where the hell was he!? How did they managed this!? Oh god his head hurt.

    “Try not to think about it too much.” Tom had suddenly appeared beside him, giving Patryck a look that said; you aren’t the first to react this way. “It will make sense later on.”

Patryck somehow doubted that.

    “Come on, I have to hand in my report to our Chief of whatever. Might as well introduce you too.”

 

Tom lead the way, pointing out things as they passes by. That was where the weapons locker was, over there was bunks for newbies (that meant him,) Next to it were the bathrooms, the recreational room was on the ground floor (that explained the karaoke he had heard,) and the rules of said room (no one was allowed to touch the harpoon gun-- why was there a harpoon gun the recreational room?) where the makeshift gym for training was, etc. Patryck was actually surprised at how well their outfit seemed to run given how little sense everything was making. Based on their files, none of the three had any military training beyond a year, and yet they managed to build up all of this in only three and half years? He suppressed a shudder. No wonder Red Leader was concerned about them. If they were allowed to spread out anymore they might become a viable threat to his power. Patryck would die before that happened...

    “And here is our ‘war room,’ but don’t bother calling it that.”

    “Why, sir?”

    “You can drop the sir when we aren’t out in the field, Tom is fine. Or your awesomeness-- whichever you prefer.” The mixed signals this man was sending... Patryck just couldn’t keep up. Was this all an act or was this ‘Tom’ guy just as laid back as he seemed? “And don’t bother calling it the ‘war room’ because…. Hmm, well, the unoffical-offical name is the ‘Tord Sucks’ room or T.S room for short but, like… Only five of us use that name soooooo never mind, I guess you can call it the war room.”

 

Patryck had to hold himself back from punching Tom right there and then in his blasphemous mouth. He was just throwing around Red Leader’s real name as if it meant nothing! As if the man who had saved him and pulled him up from nothing wasn’t a hero-- someone who could right this horrible world! He took three deep breaths to calm himself, doing everything in his power to keep his expression calm and awed. He couldn’t afford to blow this.

The door to the war room was opened and loud shouts washed over the two of them. Never in his life had Patryck seen a ‘war room’ so disorganized. Papers were everywhere: On the walls, the tables, the floors. Some even had drawings on them, child like doodles of the Red Army being crushed under a giant shoe. Three men stood in the middle of the mess, shouting at one another while a fourth man sat on the ground drawing on a map. Tom walked in and took a seat in the nearest free chair before whistling ear shattering loud. The voices ceased and they all turned to look at him.

    “You guys suck at welcome home parties.”

    “Tom!” One of the men in a green hoodie, five purple stars sewn into the each of the shoulders, almost tackled Tom out of his seat. “Your back!”

    “No shit sherlock.” Tom shoved the other off of him, grumbling as he picked up his fallen flask. “Did I miss anything while I was away?”

    “Nah, just the usual. Oh! But now that you are here, you can convince these guys that raiding the Netherlands for cola is a great idea!”

    “Edd, that is the stupidest idea since stupid ideas were invented.”

    “Aw…”

Patryck had to do a double take. That was Edd? Now that he actually looked at him, Patryck could see that it was indeed that man from the dossier, albeit far more tired looking and with a bit of scruff growing in. Patryck glanced at the stars on his shoulders, trying to figure out his rank in all of this. Was he above Tom or below? Speaking of the eyeless freak, Tom turned his and his friends attention towards Patryck.

    “By the way, meet our latest recruit, Patryck. Just picked him up, a Red Army deserter a few years back. He wants in.” with that Tom turned his attention to the others, debriefing them about his latest mission.

Edd’s eyes seem to light up when the word ‘deserter’ was brought up, almost giving Patryck a hug before thinking better and going in for a over the top handshake.

    “You ran away from the Red Army and survived-- that’s awesome!” Patryck could feel his arm going numb Edd was shaking it so hard. “We have never had desserter before-- welcome aboard! Oh! Right.”

Edd ceased the handshake and took a step back, suddenly remembering his rank and that acting like this in front of new troops wasn’t professional. He tried to recover, straightening his stance and giving Patryck a three fingered salute at chest height above his heart.

    “I should introduce myself. I am Edd, Chief of Staff and head of this little whole shindig. You already met our General of The Army, Tom. The guy he is talking too is Mark, our Warrant Officer slash personal assistant to our Chief Warrant Officer--”

He pointed at rather handsome man with far too much chin. Mark waved at Patryck before turning his focus back to Tom.

    “--Matt’s the one on the ground doodling.”

Said man looked up from his sketching, ginger locks bouncing in his face. Patryck recognized him as his third and final target.

   “Hi there Pat!”

   “It’s Patryck, sir.”

   “Whatever you say Paul!” Matt went back to doodling.

Patryck stared, frozen in place by this man's utter stupidity. How on EARTH was this man a Chief Warrant Officer? He was drawing images of himself on mission dossiers! Hell-- he couldn’t even get his name right!

Edd laughed and clapped him hard on the back, knocking the wind out of the spy. Patryck glanced over at the rebel ‘leader’ unsure if this was some sort of joke he had missed. Edd just gave him a smiled and pointed back to the handsome blonde.

   “If you ever need anything from our Chief Warrant Officer I would suggest going to Mark, he probably will be able to help you more then Matt could.” Patryck did not doubt. Edd laughed again and gave him another hard pat on the back. “It is a pleasure to have you aboard Private Patryck.”

He wondered if it was too late to turn himself in as a Red Army general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my editor, Aryandiani.
> 
> Tord makes another appearance in the next chapter so stay tuned!


	12. No News Is Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord does not take the disappearance of Patryck well.

Red Leader wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was beginning to grow apprehensive about the radio silence from his general. At first he hadn’t put much thought to it-- perhaps Patryck was chasing down a lead and couldn’t contact him. Perhaps it was as simple as that. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into a month, Tord began to worry. Patryck never went this long without contacting him, not even in the worst of situations had this ever had happened.

The stress was not only affecting him, but Paul as well. Small errors were made when he filed for reports, often times he spaced out and stared at nothing. On more than one occasion he had turned to say something to his comrade only to find no one standing next to him. The lack of the other general was beginning to wear on them both. Paul was getting snappier, temper quick to flare up at the smallest of things. Tord had found himself taking his anxiety out on the lower ranking men, trying to keep his own rage directed away from Paul. He had pointed a gun at his loyalist soldier last week and had barely been able to keep himself from firing. They needed Patryck back. Or at least some sign that he was alive. Then everything could go back to normal.

Only, Tord was beginning to fear the worst. He was supposed to have contact them from the base in Devore, the one that had fallen to rebel forces over a month ago. If Patryck had been caught in the crossfire… Tord didn’t want to think about that. Instead he tried to convince himself the attack had happened before Patryck could contact him and that he was merely stranded in England with no way to reach him. Stranded was better than dead after all.

 

Sitting at his desk, Red Leader tried to distract himself, reading over the reports on recruitment increase. His heart wasn’t in it though. The lines blurred together, dancing across the page to form images of Patryck dead. Body left to rot by the English sea, the seagulls pecking away at his corpse. He shook his head and tried to focus harder, but that only made the day terrors worsen. Patryck shot in boths knees, screaming in pain as the rebel army toyed with him. Refusing to give mercy as they shot him in the arms next--

     “FAEN!” Tord tore the document in half, throwing it in the waste bin nearby.

This wasn’t working! How was he supposed to lead an army in this condition? All he could focus on was losing Patryck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It should have been a simple mission. Find those three, report on their locations, and get the hell out of dodge. Those damn rebels had to cock everything up! If it wasn’t for them, everything would have gone according to plan-- but no! The universe just wouldn’t roll over and give itself to him. It had to make things difficult. Wasn’t it bad enough that he couldn’t FIND these damn insurgents?! No satellite could find them or their base-- no one ever even saw them coming! If he didn’t know better, Tord would assume ghosts were attacking him!

Yanking open his drawer, Tord rummaged around before pulling out cigar. Since his generals disappearance, Tord had various different methods of coping. Hentai had been his go, always being a good stress reliever in the past. But it wasn’t right. This kind of nervousness couldn’t be put to rest by some cute girl in a nice short skirt getting gently fucked. So he tried to think about Tom instead. He tried to thinking about taking all his anger out on Tom, his mouth around his cock, his body covered in bruises-- but thinking about Tom often ended up reminding him why Patryck was gone in the first place. So he defaulted back to his old habit of smoking. At first he had merely bummed one or two off Paul, but the two of them had very different tastes when it came to cigars and cigarettes. Paul like hard tasting while Tord enjoyed the more lavish sweet types of tobacco.    

He admired the cigar in his hand, turning it over a few times before bringing it to his lips. It had been gift from Patryck when they had conquered Germany. They were his favorite kind, _Gurkha His Majesty’s Reserve_ , and hard to find during war times. He had been trying to save them for special occasions, but ever since Patryck’s disappearance… This was the only connection he had to his general, his friend, and Tord found that smoking them was the only reprieve he now had. Lighting it and taking a long drag off the stick, Tord thought back to the day Patryck had given these to him.

It was just after the German government issued a surrender and his men were celebrating in the canteens. Tord had stayed in his office to double check the terms and conditions of nations submission when his general had walked in, uniform burnt from battle and a small box in hand. Tord had told him to go clean himself up, that he was ruining the carpet with his filthy boots, but Patryck had just ignored him, setting the box down on his desk. He had given his loyal soldier a look of confusion before opening it, the look of perplexity becoming one of shock. Cigars all neatly lined row by row against dark red velvet fabric. Manufactured with 18-year old tobacco, each roll infused with premium Louis XIII Cognac, one of the rarest spirits in the world. It was a beautiful sight. He had been speechless. Patryck had merely smiled at his bosses bewilderment and left him to enjoy the tobacco rolls. To this day Tord still did not know where Patryck had gotten them from.

 

    “SIR!”

Tord coughed, choking on the smoke. He glared through his hacking at the sudden intrusion, not happy that Paul had burst in so suddenly and nearly given him a heart attack. Or at least, had almost made him choke on seven hundred and fifty dollars worth of tobacco--

     “Paul, I SWEAR--”

     “P-Patryck!” Tord froze. Paul took this moment to catch his breath, leaning on the door frame. “H-he…message--.”

Paul held out a piece of paper in his shaking hand. Tord was out of his seat in a flash, the cigar dropped on the ground in his haste, tearing the paper from his second (third?) in commands hand. It was a transmission, one in a code that the Red Leader instantly recognized. It was his personal one that only himself, Paul, and Patryck knew. A huge weight lifted from his chest. If Patryck was using this code then he was safe and well. It was a short message. _Alive. Location unknown._ What the hell did that mean? Tord reread it, unsure if he had mistranslated the code. How could Patryck not know where he was? _Being watched._ Tord was beginning to dread what the rest of the report had to say. _Infiltrated rebel army. Targets located._

Tord stared at the last two lines. His legs felt weak. He couldn’t stand. From the corner of his eye, Tord saw Paul rush to his side, catching him and steadying him from falling over. No. no. No. No. No. No. NO!

    “Sir! Red Leader-- are you alright!?” Paul escorted him back his chair, fretting over his commanders sudden state.

No. He wasn’t alright. He was so far from alright. He wasn’t stupid, from those last two statements, Tord had put together all that he needed to know. He knew who the rebels were and finally understood why NOTHING he did could stop them-- and the one order he had given Patryck, the ONE damn order he insisted upon-- stressed the importance of-- was that Patryck went nowhere NEAR them.

Tord could feel himself shaking. Was it from rage? Fear? He wasn’t sure. Paul had stepped away from him, something having obviously spooked him away from the leader. His jaw was clenched so tight, Tord swore he heard a tooth crack.

    “DEN… IDIOTEN!”

Paul was barely able to jump out of the way as the desk was hurled right past him, splintering upon impact and sending shards of wood every which way.

    “I TOLD HIM NOT TO APPROACH THEM. I TOLD HIM TO STAY AWAY!!”    his general was pressed against the wall, keeping himself small as various objects were thrown across the room. “AND WHAT DOES THAT MORON DO-- HE-- HE--”

Red Leader screamed in fury, pulling his Beretta free from his side holster and firing at the wall till the gun was empty. Paul remained silent, terror having frozen him in place. When Tord was in a mood like this very few things could calm him down, Patryck being the one who often did it. Unlike his friend, Paul did not have a way with words.

    “-- FAEN!!” the gun was thrown as well.

His breathing was ragged, worn out from the screaming. Tord couldn’t stop seeing it. All those images of Patryck dead or being tortured came flooding back, stronger than before. It wasn’t hard now to imagine Tom standing over his comrade (friend,) gun pressed against his temple with that stupid smirk on his face and blowing his brains out. Tord felt his chest constrict, the air refusing to flow through his lunges as it should. Patryck was going to get caught. They would find out who was and torture him, they would kill him--

   “Tord!” He startled at his name, the crushing thoughts of his loyal soldiers death pushed aside by Paul kneeling down next to him, a hand pressed gently against his back. “Breath, sir. Slow deep breaths.”

Breathing was hard. It was ragged, scrapping his lungs and burning his throat. But Tord listened. Slow deep gulps of air, each one hurt less with another gasp. In. Out. In. Out. Tord followed the instructions with ease, his mind now set to auto-pilot. The tightness in his chest began to dissipate, winding away a tight knot being undone. Once his breathing at returned to a normal pace, Paul slowly moved away, standing at attention like nothing had happened. He said nothing, eyes forward and staring at the wall, awaiting his orders. He was a good soldier (friend,) Tord thought, grasping the edge of his chair as to steady himself. He truly had been blessed with good men, men who would never ridicule him for entering such a state. They knew better (they knew him.) Red Leader took a deep breath and stood.

His mind was beginning to clear of panic, allowing him to grasp the full picture. Patryck was safe for the time being. He could communicate with him, albeit rather slowly. He was inside the rebel army and could now provide them with a tactical advantage. He had found his targets.

Tord focused on these factors, blocking out the darker ‘what-if’s. Patryck was alive. He focused on that.

    “I want to find out where that transmission came from, I want all available hands working on finding its location.” Tord took a seat in his chair, leg neatly folded over his knee.

At his moment he looked like a leader. In control, planning, ready to crush all those that stood before him. Paul smiled. There was his leader.

    “Yes sir.”

    “Any other transmissions from that location or from Patryck are to be brought to me at once. I don’t care what I am doing, this takes precedence over all other matters, is that understood?”

    “Sir.” Paul nodded.

They held eye contact, just for a moment. Unspoken words passed between the two. Tords face relaxed, Paul’s stance was more at ease, the mess around them was ignored. A silent thank you. Then it as quickly as it come, it was gone. Back to business. There was a war to win, a general to find, and three ‘terrorists’ to capture.

    “Then get out of my office and get to work.”

Paul saluted, stepping over a piece of broken table as he made his way to the door.

    “-- And send someone to clean up this mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this version of Tord actually cares about Paul and Patryck's well being, granted in a somewhat unhealthy way as we will see later in the story. Tord literally needs them alive to function as a person, but will not hesitate to hurt them if they do something wrong. They are basically his only true friends and deep down he knows this so losing one would sorta suck for the guy. 
> 
> \-------------  
> Thanks again to my life saving editor.


	13. Day of Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patryck begins his mission, destroying the Green Rebellion from the inside.  
> Tom drinks and hears voices.  
> and Matt wants to prove himself.
> 
> Alternate title is "Fuck Patryck. He is an asshole. Fuck Paul Too. They are both assholes"

    “--I’m telling you, this picture doesn’t capture my dashing good looks at all! The angle is all wrong, I say ! All wrong!”

    “...It’s a wanted poster Matt, not a magazine cover.”

Matt scrunched up his nose, scowling at the comment as if he had just been insulted on the highest of levels.

    “A picture is a picture, Tom! They should always be perfect and captivating one's audience~.”

Tom rolled his dark orbs and snatched the wanted poster away. Ignoring the gingers protests, he scanned it over with little interest. For the past couple of months, more and more of these posters had begun to appear in England. Edd and Matt had both been ecstatic about their sudden notoriety, insisting that the poster be hung up all over base to show off. Tom was less pleased. It meant that they were now being considered an actual threat by the Red Army, a large target was being pinned on all of them. But that wasn’t what really upset him-- the whole target on them was bound to come sooner or later. No, what upset him was the fact that the posters showed their real identities. No one outside of their rebellion should know who was leading it, all that information had been a tight knit secret. How had this been leaked?! He glared down at the poster, reading it over once again.

**_Wanted For Treason Against The Red Nation and Its Leader._ **

_Matthew (nicknamed Matt) Prince._

_Crimes Committed: Property Damage, Blasphemous Libel, Sabotage, and Mutiny._

_**WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE.** Reward: ζ 850,000. _

Tom sneered at the bounty. It probably wasn’t even in pounds or dollars but that stupid new currency Tord had created. He crumpled up the paper, tossing it back at Matt while ignoring the gingers whines at the pictures loss. Tom stormed down the hall, glaring at each and every wanted poster he passed by. Edds was almost identical in nature, listing off more ‘crimes’ and giving a higher reward price-- but aside from that there was no difference between the two. Tom’s on the other hand… He spotted his poster on the door to rec room, grimacing as he tore it down.

**_Wanted For Treason Against The Red Nation and Its Leader._ **

_Thomas (nicknamed Tom) Thompson._

_Crimes Committed: Property Damage, Arson, Robbery, Treason, Possession of Stolen Goods, Public Intoxication,_ (fuck you Tord) _Capital Murder, Encouraging or Assisting a Crime, Obstruction of Justice, Unlawful Assembly, and Vandalism._

_**WANTED ALIVE.** Reward: ζ 3,903,200. _

Why was it that out of the three of them he was the only one wanted alive? Edd and Matt’s posters both said ‘dead or alive,’ but Tom’s… Tom’s didn’t, and that unnerved him to no end. Why did Tord want him alive? Why just him? Tom tore his poster into a small piece, depositing them in the nearest trash bin. Just looking at his own wanted poster set him on edge. He felt like he was always being watched, that Tord’s beady silver eyes were tearing into him at every turn.

    “ _You should be happy that I have taken a personal interest in you Thomas._ ” Tom grit his teeth, trying to block out the voice. “ _It shows how important you are to me, old friend._ ”

Tom wanted to spit back that he wasn’t his friend-- that he had never been Tord’s friend. He caught sight of two guards rounding the corner and kept his mouth shut. He needed a drink. Tom resumed walking, needing space away from everyone else. It was too exposed here, too open. Too vulnerable.

    “ _Think of all the fun we will have once you and I are back together._ ”

Ignore it. Ignore it till you can get to the safety of your room and drink the voice away. Tom repeated these lines over and over to himself, trying to get his breathing under control. Tord wasn’t really there, it was just his fucked up mind playing tricks on him. A few gulps of Smirnoff and he would be better, fit for duty.

    “ _You can watch as I destroy your little army with my robot, it will be so much fun Thomas! Just think of their screams as they die cursing you-- haha, it will be a blast._ ”

Tom stumbled into into his room, slamming the door shut with a panicked grab, hastily putting the locks on. He couldn’t have anyone see him like this. He had kept up his rouse for years, no one could find out now. Perhaps before if he had told Edd before their operation had grown in size, he could have someone to talk to about this. But he hadn’t: Now it was too late. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. Too many people counted on him now.

    “ _And how foolish of them to do so._ ” Tom tore his blankets off the bed, searching blindly for the hole in the mattress. His secret stache. “ _You are going to get them all killed._ ”

His hand touched glass. Almost weeping for joy, Tom pulled the bottle out from the hiding spot, wasting no time in down the warm burning liquid. It burned. Each gulp felt like molten lava and it was the sweetest relief in this world.

    “ _Drinking me away again, Thomas? How sad._ ”

    “Fuck off.” Tom gave the finger to the air, continuing to drink. The bottle was half empty.

    “ _Such a clever comeback, you are just impressing me with your wits today Thomas--_ ”

    “STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

The bottle was empty now, thrown at the closest wall, glass flying everywhere. Tord’s voice range with laughter, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears. He tried to cover them, knowing it was futile. Even if he went deaf now he would still hear that bastard's voice. You can’t escape your own mind.

    “ _...You can’t stop me Tom._ ” The voice was serious now, mirth wiped away as if it had never been there. “ _This whole ‘rebellion,’ it won't work and you know it. You’ve seen the maps. You’ve seen the nations falling one by one. Seen the corpses I leave in my wake._ ”

It was so soft now, like a whisper in his ear. The vodka must be kicking in.

    “ _You can’t win. So why bother fighting back?_ ” Tom closed his eyes. He was so tired. Was it the Smirnoff? He shouldn’t be going under after one measly bottle. “ _Just… Surrender. It will all be over soon. I promise._ ”

Everything faded to black.

 

* * *

 

    Patryck stood with his ear pressed up against the door, straining to hear what was transpiring on the other side. He could hear shouts, slurred and mushed together. Good, he had drunken the drugged alcohol, it wouldn’t be long before the General was out cold. Pulling away with a smile, knowing that it was now safe to proceed, Patryck made his way to the Chief Warrant Officer’s room. Almost a five months had gone into planning this operation, months carefully spent sneaking away to get messages out to Red Leader. Sending each one had been a challenge, receiving them had been even harder. For the first two months Patryck had been under careful watch, only allowed in certain areas of the base. As time went on, they grew to trust him and more places became available. There was a lot he didn’t know; like how they got to and from their base, and where the other soldiers were. But he didn’t have time to explore that deep. Red Leader wanted this rebellion crushed fast and him out of there equally as quick. So this mission had been created with that in mind, and part one was already going according to plan. With Tom safely out of the way, phase two could begin.

He gave two quick knocks on the door, took a deep breath to prepare himself for the idiocy that was Matt, and smiled. Matt opened the door, beaming in delight when he saw who it was. For the past several months, Patryck had been building up trust with the moron, pretending to enjoy his novelty toy collection and making small talk about all the ‘handsome’ pictures he had put up. It had worked rather well.

    “Paul!” Idiot still couldn’t remember his name. Patryck had stopped correcting him months ago, it wasn’t worth the headache.

    “Hello si- Matt. I am sorry if I am bothering you--”

    “You could never bother me, what’s up?” Patryck grit his teeth. Grin and bare it, he told himself.

    “I have a mission dossier from Tom and--” Patryck had barely gotten the words out of his mouth before Matt started to squeal with joy.

    “A mission! Oh boy, I never get to go on missions anymore--!” for good reason. “--What is it, what is it!?”

Patryck gave up on trying to explain, holding out the mission debriefing and allowing it to be snatched from his hands. He watched as the chief warrant officer skimmed through the files, probably only reading every other line. Honestly, Patryck could have handed him a single piece of paper that said: ‘Go to this location’, and the moron would have believed him.

    “Wow, A whole platoon to myself! I have never gotten to lead a force so big-- and without Mark helping me either!” Matt hesitated at this, looking a bit nervous. “...Is it ok for me to go on this mission without Mark? He is always supposed to accompany me on these sort of things.”

Patryck just gave the ginger a smile, one that he knew always relaxed the other. Matt was so simple to control. A kind word, a compliment, shallow conversation, and the boy would be eating out of the palm of anyone's hand. Probably why everyone guarded him so closely. He couldn’t be trusted alone. Patryck preyed on this, knowing how to play on Matt’s weaknesses.

    “Obviously Tom thinks you are ready to go out on your own. You are Chief Warrant Officer, Matt, your friends trusted you with that title., Clearly they think you are capable of this simple mission. Not to mention it will give the soldier a huge moral booster seeing their _handsome_ commander in the field. You will be a shining light for them Matt.”

Hook. Line. Sucker. Matt bought every word, almost preening when his good looks were brought up. Patryck had to jump out of the way Matt was rushing off to fast to go ready the troops, completely forgetting to leave his door locked.

An unexpected bonus. Patryck entered, grimacing at all the narcissistic pictures of the ginger hanging on the walls. He didn’t want to spend another minute in this tacky room, quickly dropping a second file down on Matt’s bed. Another falsified document-- one meant to create the image that Matt had come up with this plan on his own. It had been rather hard to make. Patryck had to make it sound official but dumb at the same time. Something that only an idiot like Matt could write. It had taken longer to create then he would ever like to have admitted.

Evidence planted, Patryck took his leave, making sure to shut the door as he made his way back to the bunks. Phase two complete.

 

* * *

 

    Matt was ecstatic. His first big mission-- all by himself! He couldn’t stop shaking with enthusiasm and nerves. Normally Mark would be sitting next to him, talking beauty tips and grooming techniques to help steady his nerves, but instead, a Private sat next to him, driving them down the long dark winding tunnel to Ogna, Norway. It felt odd not having his friend with him. Mark had been on every mission with him since joining their group. It didn’t really feel the same without him, making the drive feel longer. But that could just be the fact it was a ten hour car drive from headquarters to Ogna. Time was loopy in these caves with nothing to look at but dirt roads and stalactites hanging down from the ceiling. He busied himself by once again rereading the file Paul (Patryck) had given him.  
Their target was a small naval base on the coast of Ogna, Norway. It was a simple hit and run. Plant a bomb, blow the base to pieces, and look cool while walking away from the explosion. He and Mark and done loads of these in the past, he could manage it without him. Sure, now he had to walk away from the explosion like a badass all by himself, and that sort of made it less fun-- but he would have one of the soldiers take pictures of it. He could show it to Mark and boast about how well he had done alone and about how cool he looked with the fires burning bright behind him. All Matt really had to had to do was make sure the soldiers didn’t die. Easy peasy! He had never lost a man or woman on a mission before. Well, not from death. He had actually lost them once in the woods-- but he found them again so it didn’t count!

He thought about Edd and Tom’s smiling faces when he would come back victorious. They would shower him with praise and hugs, tell him how cool and popular he was. They would be so proud of him! Then he would get to go on even more missions with them-- it would be like old times! The three of them doing crazy fun things together, surviving all sorts of chaos and making memories in the process. Matt had (or used to have before the house was ruined) a memento from every adventure. He could remember every silly little thing that happened to the three of them in vivid detail, it was probably the only thing he ever could recall with ease.

Matt missed their adventures together…

     “Sir, we’ve arrived.”

So soon? He wondered how much time had passed while he fantasized about being a hero. He looked at the clock on the car's dashboard. Almost three hours. Talk about a good fantasy. Well, now it was time to make fantasy a reality!

Matt hopped out of the truck, making sure to do a head count before they left the tunnels. Mark had always stressed the importance of knowing how many men one had while out on a mission. Matt counted-- then counted again to make sure. Twenty nine men plus himself thirty in total. It was a smaller group then he was used to working with, but that was probably because the base was smaller. He wouldn’t need fifty men for such a small base. Plus fifty was a lot to count on his own.

    “Alrighty! Let's head out!”

 

    The tunnel entrance brought them about a football fields length away from the base. Matt couldn’t believe how lucky they were! With them being so close to the naval headquarters, all they would have to do would be to run over, plant the bombs, and get out. This was the best solo mission ever! He hoped his hair looked perfect under his helmet. He couldn’t have a hair out of place for his dramatic helmet removal as badass explosives went off behind him. It would look so awesome! Mark would be so jealous!

The troops moved in quickly, sticking close together as they rushed the walls of the base. The soldiers kept close to the perimeter as they search for the best place to set down their ‘payload.’ It had to be in an area where they could make a straight shot to the middle of the base to drop the rest of the bombs, but also in a spot where the wall was weak enough to be blasted apart. It was their demolition expert who found the perfect target: A small crack in the foundation of the wall. While not big enough to put the payload in, it was enough to know that this was the weakest spot in the wall. The bomb was stuck to the wall with duct tape, Matt making sure it was in place before signaling for everyone to get well away from the blast radius. Once the wall was blown open they would rush in, plant the rest of the bombs, and get out before anyone could evacuate-- it would be easy! Just like any old mission with Mark. Why had he ever doubted he could do this on his own?

    “Light it up!” Gods he sounded so cool!

But nothing happened. Matt frowned, unsure if the demolition expert had heard him. Maybe he should have given a more official sounding order? He turned to the soldier with the detonator to check if he had actually heard him. He must have because he kept pressing the button, trying to set it off.  

    “Uh, isn’t it supposed to go off or something?” Matt frowned, wondering if they had brought a faulty remote or something. This was so not cool.

    “I-I’m trying sir.” He kept pushing the button, looking back and forth between the dynamite and the control in his hand. “Its not worki--”

 

He suddenly slumped over. Matt blinked, unsure what had just happened. His face felt wet. He could hear his soldiers scream, the words felt muffled. Everything felt slow and heavy. He blinked again and everything was back to its proper pace. He could hear the sound of little pops from all around him, like guns being shot but through a pillow. It sounded so faint. He didn’t understand. What went wrong? Everything had been going fine, nothing had been different. So why… Why were they being shot at?

Gun suddenly in hand, Matt fired at the blue figures surrounding them, panic racing through him. How many had been shot? Were they surrounded? This was supposed to be an easy mission. How had they been spotted? Where was Mark? Right, not there. Nothing was making sense. He tried to count how many of his men were still fighting but it was so hard. Everyone kept moving. Colors kept blurring together. This wasn’t right at all. This wasn’t supposed to happen! His thoughts were going a mile a minute, unable to stay on one thought for long.

Someone screamed. All those racing thoughts ceased, stopped dead in their tracks by the cry of pain. He wasn’t sure if it was from one of his men or the Reds. Hopefully the enemies. He turned to look anyways. Standing over a one of his fallen recruits was a man in Red Army uniform, hair short and eyebrows so thick Matt wondered if trimming scissors could even cut those. He looked back down at his gunner, shocked to still see them alive. Again everything moved slow. It was sort of cool when things moved slow, Matt felt like he was ahead of everyone else. He used to get these feelings of slow motion when on a sugar high. It had been so fun, running around while everyone else moved like molasses. Then Edd had banned him from eating Pixie Dust (yes literal pixie dust, not that candy knock off crap) and he stopped getting the ‘slow downs.’ But he didn’t like it now, not when all he could see was the bushy eyebrowed man slowly raising his pistol at his soldiers head--

He was going to kill them.

    “NO!”

Everything was fast again. Matt had fired. The man was staggering back, clutching his face and cursing. Matt didn’t care that he had missed, terrified that he shot to late. The wounded fighter moved-- just an inch-- but it was enough for Matt to know that they were still alive. He rushed the enemy soldier, shoving him off the injured ally, screaming at him to stay away from his friend. He turned to the recruit, about to tell him retreat when pain washed over him. Confused, Matt looked down, shocked to see red spreading across his stomach. The longer he looked at it the more it hurt--  pain blossoming through his chest and down his legs. He collapsed, unsure of what to do. He had never been shot before. Was he supposed to hold the wound or something? Or was he supposed to put salt on it? Damn, he should have listened more to those cop shows. They were always getting shot. They must know how to treat a gun wound. Matt kept thinking about this as he passed out.

 

* * *

 

    “Neuken!”

Paul stumbled backward gripping his face. It hurt, no, that wasn’t enough to describe the pain he was in. It burned. As if someone had slashed him across the face with a knife made of acid only to pour alcohol on it after. And the blood-- there was so much blood-- he couldn’t see out of his right eye. What the hell had that idiot hit?

Fisting the cuff of his uniform, Paul pushed the fabric hard against his face, trying to stop the bleeding. Everything felt dizzy, the forest was spinning. He needed to get to cover. But where was cover? There was so much red running down his face, he could barely make out who was who. Someone steadied him, pulling him behind-- was it a tree? It must have been a tree, that was the only cover around them. He wiped-- tried to wipe-- the blood away from his eyes, irked that nothing he seemed to do made the right side any better. Damn it really hurt.

    “Sir!” Paul looked towards the voice, squinting to try and see who it was. That only made his head hurt more so he gave up, cursing the ginger for getting such a lucky shot on him. “You’ve been hit, we need to evacuate you im--”

    “You will do no such thing!” Paul hissed.

Yes, it hurt. Whenever he moved a muscle in his face it hurt. But this was nothing compared to the time he had almost died fighting off zombies. He was still fit to lead. The sound of gunfire had stopped, leaving an unpleasant ringing in his ears. The battle was over.

    “Check the wounded and the dead to see if our target is still among them. If he is alive, bring him back to base and prepare him for transport.” Where the hell was the blasted medic!

    “A-and if he isn’t sir?”

Ugh. Whoever was talking to him must have been a new recruit. He hated newbies, always asking such dumb questions. He didn’t have time to babysit them, that was more of Patryck’s expertise. He had a way with words, always making them feel at ease. He tried not to think about Patryck, now wasn’t the time to get sentimental.

    “Then we only need his head, everything else can get torched-- AND WILL SOMEONE BRING ME A VLOEK FIRST AID KIT!?” It was like herding kittens with these fuckers.

He heard the soldier scamper away, hopefully to go find their field nurse or a shit ton of morphine. Either would be good right about now. Slumping against the tree, Paul groaned. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and now his whole face burned like a bitch. He wondered if jumping into the sea would cool it down. Hmm, probably not, what with all that salt in the water.

He heard the sound of footsteps again, Paul not bothering to open his eyes to try and see who it was. It hurt too damn much. Either it was the newbie or the nurse, no one he had to worry about.

    “Please hold still general, I am just going to inspect the damage done.”

Nurse it was. Paul slowly took pressure off his right side, groaning with disgust as fluid began to run down his face. She tried to be gentle and Paul was thankful for that, but every little touch hurt. He touched around his eye, pulling at… Something, he couldn’t tell what. It stung. He heard her make a noise, something like a parent would to a child who had ruined their good clothes.

    “I can bandage it and give you pain relievers, but I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do to repair the damage to your eye while in the field.”

Shit. Paul tried not to think deeply on what they meant by that. Instead, he focused on the pills that were forced into his hand and a bottle of water in his other. He popped the pills and prayed they were a strong painkiller that was fast acting.

   “What is our casualty number?” The nurse was cleaning away the blood, wrapping something soft around his eye and head.

   “Three dead and seven injured-- please hold still sir.” No heavy losses than, good.

   “And the enemy?”

   “Last I checked most were dead. I think three survived.”

Paul really hoped one of those survivors were his target. Red Leader had said he would prefer this Matt guy alive rather than dead, and Paul didn’t want to disappoint him. But stuff happens in battle you can’t control, it’s just the way of things.

The field medic pulled back and Paul was pleased that he could now see somewhat out of his left eye, glad to know that it had only been blood causing most of the eye sight issue. He stood, legs almost giving out from underneath him. Wow-- that was a strong pain killer, how many had that damn nurse given him?! He sent a glare her way, using the tree as support to steady himself. He had wanted to numb the pain, not be high as hell! The nurse looked away, trying not to seem amused by his weakened state. Paul wondered if he could shoot her. He was well within his rights to do so, but decided against it. They had seven men who still needed tending to.

    “Go see to the other men and have the survivors brought to me.” The nurse saluted and left.

 

Two men were dragged before him (the other one must have died,) one barely conscious and bleeding out, the other shaking with terror. It took Paul a minute to realize that the one who had shot him was the ginger dying in front of him, and also his target. Damn it, why couldn’t these missions ever be simple.

    “Someone get him back to base now! Have those wounds treated immediately-- because if he dies, your whole family dies-- got that!?” That got his men moving.

They grabbed the ginger, rushing him to the field medic. None of them doubted Paul's words, many of them having seen the price of failure first hand. The Red Leader’s right hand men were not to be trifled with. What they said to him had a lot of sway, and no one with any sense ever wanted to be on their bad side. One of the soldiers remained, unsure what to do with the remaining prisoner.

    “Uh, sir-- what should I do with this one?”

Paul rolled his working eye and pulled out his gun. He shot once, hitting the captured fighter in the chest. They screamed, doubling over in agony. Frowning, Paul aimed again, upset when this time he hit his shoulder. Aiming with one eye was harder then it seemed. He really hoped his right could be saved, because this lack of depth perception was a pain in his ass. He took aim once more, careful this time to line the sight of the barrel to the wounded soldiers head. The trigger was pulled and blood splashed across his boots. Better. His recruit flinched away, red covering his uniform. Paul secured his weapon, searching his pockets for his carton of cigarettes. Empty. Perfect. Just Perfect. This was the icing on this shitty cake of a mission.

    “And will somebody find me a **damn** cigarette!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Aryandiani, my editor who puts up with my whining.
> 
> But yeah, shit is starting to get real guys. Sorry it took so long to get here.  
> We ain't even at the half way point yet.  
> This are gonna go down soon.  
> Shit gets DARK.


	14. Not The Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord gets his hands on Matt...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING NOTE  
> This scene is graphic.  
> If you do not handle torture scenes well or any form of gore, then I would suggest you stop reading after the Paul part.

    “Let me look at it.”

    “Sir, I'm fine.” Paul tried to swat his leader's hand away, earning himself an a cold glare.

    “Paul.” This wasn’t a request.

Paul sighed, kneeling down before Red Leader and undoing the bandages. He wrapped them around his hand, refusing to let the spoiled gauze touch the Silk Isfahan Rug.

The two men were alone in the office, a mission report sitting on Tord’s desk that Paul had brought to him personally to read. Tord had taken the dossier, setting it down on the beautiful new table, ignoring it and almost roughly grabbing his solder by the face. Paul had reeled back, reflexes mistaking the movement for an attack. Of course he had apologized, embarrassed he had mistaken an act of concern for one of violence.

Tord cupped his face, turning his head to get a better look at the injured side. The doctors had done their best, Paul was just happy they had managed to save the eye. Of course he lost about sixty percent of his vision and there would be a large scar left behind once it properly healed, but overall he was thankful. The damage could have been much worse if that ginger (Matt was it?) had been a better shot.

Paul hissed when Tord dug his nails into the freshly healed skin, trying to keep himself from shifting and making the pain so much worse.

    “I thought my orders were clear Paul? Stay in the rear of the attack and just give orders; you were not to engage the enemy.” He dragged his nails down and Paul whimpered as the freshly healed skin was torn open.

    “I-I… I got caught up in t-the heat of the moment, sir.” The nails dug in close to his injured eye, blood dripping down onto the red carpet. Paul held back his cries of pain, trying so hard to keep himself steady and rooted in place. “It was a mistake a-and I paid the price for it.”

 

It was true. It was one of his bigger flaws. He couldn’t help himself, he loved the fight. It was exhilarating, heart pounding. Red Leader had tried to train that out of him long ago, and for the most part it had worked-- but every now and again there were slips ups. It was why Patryck was always by his side. They worked well together in the field; Patryck kept him level headed and cemented in place. Without his ‘conscious’ there to keep him in check however… It seemed he relapsed into his old ways. Paul could tell from the look in Tord’s eyes that he was not pleased by this. He had always hated when Paul acted without thought. The pressure on his injuries increased and Paul caved, letting out a yelp of agony.

    “S-sir! T-Tord! It hurts!” Shit-- those fingers were too close to his eye, one misstep and those sharp nails would be digging into what little he had left of a working retina.

The hands suddenly pulled away and Paul almost collapsed, caught mid fall by his leaders  firm hold.

Tord hugged him tight, too tight almost, face buried into the crook of his still bloodied uniform.

    “Never. EVER. Disobey a direct order from me when dealing with those three.” He could feel his commanders body shake against his, voice suddenly so soft and exposed. “Is that clear?”

Paul’s whole body felt heavy. Guilt weighed him down on his shoulders, he should have known better then to go charging in. What if he had died on that mission? Then Tord would be alone. Patryck would be alone. Paul laid his head against the top of his boss's, words muffled when he spoke.

    “I’m sorry sir… It won't happen again.”

Tord huffed, pulling back and taking the bandages from his solders hand and tossing them aside. Paul tried to protest-- that the carpet would get dirty-- but Tord just silenced him with a look. The shorter man stood, going to his desk and calling for a medic to bring fresh new wraps for his general. Ugh, he hated when the commander tried to baby him, he could get his own bandages. But it was best to let it slide. Red Leader was obviously not in the mood to hear back talk and he had just gotten forgiveness. Best not to push it.

The general got back to his feet, standing at attention. He still had a report to deliver. Paul waited for Tord to take a seat before he began.

    “Operation Fun Dead was a success, with only three casualties and seven injuries, of which only two were major.” Red Leader picked up the file, lazily reading it over. “The target known to us as Matthew Prince was captured roughly seven hours again with a gunshot wound to the stomach. He survived the bullet and was immediately taken back to base where he received medical treatment for his injuries. Upon stabilization, he was transported to our current location and secured in our high facility lock-down system.”

    “Is he conscious?”

    “Latest report from the guards suggests--”

Red Leader motioned for him to be silent when a knock on the door sounded. Buzzing her in, a medic entered the room, carrying in hand a fresh set of bandages, rubbing alcohol, and small bottle with pills in it. Paul tried not to roll his eyes. Now this was just overkill. He could attend his own injuries just fine! He grumbled the whole time as he was treated, almost snatching the bottle of pain medication from her when she was done treating him. Red Leader dismissed the nurse and allowed Paul to continue.

    “--Suggests that he was beginning to regain consciousness.”

Red Leader smiled and Paul shuddered. That smile was a dangerous one. The one all to similar of a cat about to play with a helpless mouse, tear open the poor rodents guts, and let it slowly bleed out to death. Then not even bother eating it. That cruel look always unsettled Paul.

    “Well then. Let’s go pay our ‘guest’ a visit.”

 

* * *

 

Matt really did not like the room he was in. It was dark and cold and lacked a single mirror to look in. Also everything was made out of cement, so the comfort level was terrible. Over all, he wasn’t happy. Mostly he was sad bordering on terrified, eyes glancing over at the door every couple of minutes. His only way out.

He had woken up about two hours ago, his stomach aching and whining with protest when he tried to move. He was alone. None of his troops were with him and when he called out no one answered. Matt hoped some of them survived. Really, he hoped all of them had, but he doubted that was case. Tom was going to be furious with him. He would berate him in front of everyone and he would cry, and Mark would scold him for going off on his own… Matt couldn’t comprehend the idea of never seeing his friends again, locking that dark thought away in the back of his mind. They would come for him, he told himself. He would be back at base in no time and everything would be fine.

Matt looked up at the door again. He didn’t like being alone in such an empty space. It felt too compact, too tight. As if at any moment the walls could fold in on themselves and he would be trapped in the small space forever. He fiddled with a lock of ginger, eager for someone to come talk to him. Even if it was the enemy. Maybe they could talk about his novelty toy collection? Maybe they would become friends and escape together. Matt liked that idea.

The door clicked. Matt flinched and tried to sit up straight, wincing when pain raced through his abdomen. Light flooded the dark room, blinding Matt as two figures entered, the door shutting and locking behind them. His eyes stung, taking a moment to readjust to the darkness.

    “Hello, old friend.”

    “Todd!” Matt smiled, happy to see his friend. Then he remembered the house, his face, and Tom’s almost death. The smile vanished.

Todd (Tord) took a step closer and Matt tried to back up, only succeeding in pushing himself deeper into his corner. Besides him stood another man, and it took the ginger to remember who it was. The bushy eyebrow soldier he had shot. There were thick white bandages wrapped around the side of his face, covering his right eye. Matt wondered if he had done that.

Suddenly hands were on his jacket, lifting him up and throwing him down before the Red Army’s leader. Matt groaned when he landed on his stomach, pain racing up his side and burning. He tried to sit up, kicked back down by the soldier with the bandages.

    “You will address him by his proper title, captive.” The thick eyebrowed man glared down at him, boot keeping him pinned to the ground.

It hurt. It hurt more then when Todd (Tord) had punched him in the face. He thought nothing could hurt more then that-- he was wrong.

To-- Red Leader knelt down before him, a lazy smile on his face. Matt had never liked that smile. The one that appeared when they were watching horror movies and things got just a little too bloody for his tastes. Roughly, he was grabbed by the chin, forced to look at that unsettling Cheshire smile.

    “You must excuse Paul’s rudeness. He is a bit on edge since you almost blinded him.”

Matt flinched at remark. He had never blinded someone before. It wasn’t a good feeling. He tried to look back at the soldier to get a better look at the injury, but Red Leader held his face tight. Matt whimpered in pain when nails sunk into his perfect skin, able to feel them slicing in and leaving marks. No no no, not the face! He struggled more now, ignore the burning sensation in his abdomen as he tried to pull away from Red Leader’s hold. But he didn’t let go, only pushing his nails in deeper and squeezing his chin harder.

    “I was not too happy about that either, Matt.” the nails started to drag upwards, tearing at the soft freckled skin. “Paul is one of my best men. So loyal, so vicious-- he simply can not be replaced.”

Matt was screaming, screaming for him to stop hurting his face. The man just gave him that same cold smile, tearing at a different section of chin.

    “So you can only _imagine_ how upset I was to learn that you, stupid ugly Matt, had been the one to hurt him.”

There was a sick wet sound of something being forcefully peeled off. Matt shut his eyes closed, not wanting to know what To-- Red Leader had just done. But Red Leader wouldn’t let him have that. He felt fingers roughly on his eyes, yanking them open to stare at the bloody piece of skin dangling in front of his face. He felt sick. He wanted to vomit, to look away, to scream, to cry-- where were Edd and Tom? Why hadn’t they come for him yet!?

    “I don’t like it when people damage my things, stygg.” Red Leader released his hold and Matt finally was able to scream properly.

The bandaged soldier covered his mouth, hand rubbing up against the freshly opened wounds. His sweat stung, irritating the cuts and tears. Tears poured down Matt’s cheeks, in too much agony to struggle anymore. Everything hurt. The weight from the man on his back hurt. His chin hurt. His guts hurt. The pain was everywhere, he couldn’t escape from it.

He begged Todd (Tord) to stop, but his cries were transformed into wails of misery when the hand pressed down harder. He wanted to go home. He wanted to sit on the couch with his friends and watch dumb movies. He wanted this war to have never happened, he wanted everything to go back to normal! He wanted Edd and Tom. He wanted Mark to tell him secrets about proper hair care. He wanted Eduardo to insult him over a small mistake. He wanted Tom to call him an idiot and for Edd to laugh with him. Why wouldn’t the pain just stop?

     “Shhh, sshhh, it will all be over soon my little stygg soldat.” Matt flinched at the gentle pat on his cheek. “Soon we will all be friends once again, wouldn’t you like that stygg soldat?”

Weakly he nodded his head. Matt just wanted this to be over. If that what To- Red Leader wanted. To be friends again? He could do that! Anything-- Anything to end this suffering. Red Leader smiled at his response. It was softer than the other one, Matt liked better. It wasn’t cruel.

    “Good, good. I am so happy to hear that comrade.”

He held up something. Matt glanced over at it, unsure what was being presented to him. He froze, eyes wide. Red Leader was holding a sharp knife and it was so close to his face, far too close for his liking. Matt’s screams were muffled, suddenly finding the energy to struggle under the soldier's weight once again. No, no-- no more! Please! He wanted this to stop-- Red Leader promised it would stop! The thick eyebrowed soldier help him down, pinning his arms to the ground with the weight of his legs and forcing his head back to look at at the knife.

    “Relax, I will make this as painless as possible~. Once I repay you for the damage you did to Paul, we can be friends again. Isn’t that what you wanted, stygg soldat?”

The blade was pressed right under his right eye, the tip of the knife digging into the skin. Matt tried to stay still, too afraid to move. He didn’t want this. He just wanted the pain to stop! It was getting hard to breath, snot was clogging up his nose and the hand over his mouth was making it impossible for air to get in.

    He didn’t register the pain, at first. Something cold and metal slid against his skin, a warm wet liquid running down his cheek. Then the agony hit. Wave after wave washed over his face, the smallest movement from the knife making the pain double. Red Leader was slow, too. Each drag of the blade was methodical and precise. He couldn’t move away, the soldier was gripping his head to tight-- he couldn’t even open his mouth to properly scream. Worst of all was that he could see it. Every movement of the blades cruel cut he could see perfectly until finally there was too much blood to make out anything. There was a disgusting squishing sound, like jello being pulled from the cup and his vision cleared slightly. Oh gods, why could he still see?! Matt could feel his eye being touched, rolled around like a marble in the other man's hands. He felt nauseous.

     “See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Read Leader raised the knife, swinging it down with a smile. Everything on his right side went black. It stung. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

A bloodied green eye was held up before him, glistening in the light from the crack in the door. Matt reeled back, screams muffled still by the soldiers hand. Red Leader laughed and waved his hand dismissively. The soldier let him go, moving by his commanders side. Matt clutched his face, trying to make the agonising pain go away. An arm wrapped around his right side, pulling him close, he couldn’t see who it was-- this was a whole new sense of terrifying. He would never be able to see anything on that side now. He was half blind!

     “Shh, shh. See? It’s all over now.” To- Red Leader  whispered. That’s who was holding him. Petting his hair gently and hushing him. Matt tried not to flinch at each touch, terrified of more pain coming his way. “Now we can be friends again. Isn’t that wonderful?”

When Matt didn’t respond Red Leader dug his nails into the open wound on his face.

     “YES!” He screamed, not daring to pull away. “Y-Yes it is! P-Please stop!!”

Red Leader hummed with approval, pulling his bloodied hand away and returned to petting Matt’s head, bright red mixing in with the orange

     “I am so happy you see it that way Matt.” He stood, pulling Matt up with him who could only wobble and collapse against his enemy’s hold.

The Norwegian tutted softly, passing Matt into the soldier’s arms who held him far less gently than his leader had. His hold was tight, squeezing his tired and sore muscles till Matt was shaking in silent agony. To-- Red Leader, pretended not to notice.

    “Now let's get those nasty little injuries of yours treated. Wouldn’t you like that, my stygg soldat?”

The hands holding him up squeezed tighter.

    “Y-Yes. I-I would.” Matt squeaked in pain when his arm was twisted rather harshly. “Y-Yes I would, S-SIR!”

The hold lessened and Matt almost collapsed with relief. Red Leader just smiled, patting him on the head for such good behavior. Matt looked away, feeling sick at the rewarding gesture. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be with Tom and Edd again. The soldier holding him began to drag him towards the door and Matt didn’t fight back, eager for the medical treatment Tord had promised.

    “Ah, wait.” The soldier stopped and Matt wanted to cry. No no no. He had been good! He was playing by Red Leader's rules. Why. Why, wouldn’t he be given relief from this pain?! “There is one small thing I need to ask you, Matt. Tell me the truth and I will send you to the medical bay, my friend.”

The Norwegian didn’t need to say what would happen if he lied. Matt knew.

    “W-Whatever you want… J-Just no more. Please no more… S-Sir.”

Red Leader pretend to think it over, drawing out his prisoners suffering. Matt squirmed in the bushy eyebrowed soldiers hold, unable to keep his whimpers of pain in any longer.

    “Your Rebellion. Tell me everything.”

Matt caved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting serious now...  
> \-------  
> Thanks again to my editor!


	15. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone misses Matt, Tom drinks, and Tord plans an attack.

Mark was the first to notice Matt’s disappearance. It had been the very next day when the ginger didn’t show up to their daily ‘handsome-off,’ that Mark grew concerned. Matt never missed a chance to show off his good looks, especially in a competitive setting. Ever since they had created the ‘modeling show’ as a way to deal with their constant need to be the best looking man in the room, Matt had always been there. On time, ready to be the best. Occasionally Mark let him win, sometimes he gave Matt a run for his money, and other times he even won their little game. But that day Matt didn’t show. No one else seemed to worry as much. That was until two days past and no one had seen hide nor hair of the ginger. Mark and Edd and searched the tunnels, concerned that the Chief Warrent Officer had accidentally gotten lost in them again. Eduardo and Yui searched the neighboring towns, in case Matt had gone off on his own to buy beauty supplies. Tom and Patryck had searched the base, finding the mission folder in Matt's room. 

Mark had to be held down by his friend, panic taking over his common sense, he couldn’t lose another friend-- he just couldn’t! Edd had tried to stay positive, said that perhaps the mission had been a success and they were just delayed. The positivity had been shattered to pieces when a soldier came bearing the bad news. It had been broadcast all across Red Army claimed lands, shown on every tv and printed in every newspaper. 

**_Green Rebellion Attack Stopped At Ogna Base, No Survivors_ ** . 

 

Mark stopped speaking after the news arrived. He still functioned as a perfectly good soldier, but his eyes were dead. Nothing Eduardo said could bring him out of his listlessness. Tom had stolen all the vodka on base and went on a binge that ended with him in the infirmary. Edd locked himself away. 

 

For a week Eduardo had been in charge, the two founding leaders unable to tend to their duties. He didn’t blame them. He had been the same when Jon had died, empty, depressed, broken. He hoped they would snap out of it soon. Eduardo couldn’t run the army by himself. He just didn’t have Edd’s charisma and kindness. The soldiers listened to him but he was not their leader and Eduardo knew that he couldn’t lead these men. So he gave everyone the week off to mourn. 

It wasn’t just the leaders that were sad, the soldiers were hurting too. They had lost friends in that attack. Some had been more than just friends. For that whole week there were no smiles, no jokes, no laughter. The base was somber and the caverns held an oppressive atmosphere. It had been their first loss. In almost 4 years, they had never suffered a defeat. There were casualties, of course, this was war after all. But never on so big a scale. It was a cold wake up call.

 

At the end of the week, Edd returned. On the outside he was the same, smiling and leading the troops against the Red Army, lighting the fires in their hearts to continue on and fight back. But those close to him noticed he wasn’t the same. His smile was tight and never reached his eyes, his laughter ending after a few short chuckles. No one mentioned the change out loud.

Tom had been discharged from the infirmary three days after Edds return, looking pale and thin. The soldiers had been given strict orders to keep the alcohol away from him until his stomach had a chance to properly recover. The eyeless general had been furious at the order but found himself unable to protest it when Edd backed it, telling him it was for his own good. He had also been put on medical leave until the doctors on staff deemed him fit for duty. Tom had taken it rather badly, locking himself in his private quarters and refusing to let anyone in. 

 

* * *

Tom stared at his wall. He had been doing this a lot the past couple of days, sulking and staring at the wall. Being sober sucked. It was borderline torture, able to hear all one's thoughts loud and clear, nothing to stop the worst of them from being the main focus of his self ramblings. Worst of all was the voice. Without the vodka to keep it dull and drowned out, the hallucination came back harder then before. It never left him alone. Ever since waking up in the medical ward it had refused to leave him alone-- worst of all was that it was growing stronger. Now Tom felt phantom touches against his skin, making him twice as jumpy when the voice sounded close to him. His hands couldn’t stop shaking now. Tom wasn’t sure if it was withdrawal or fear making him act this way. Maybe both. Either way, he was on edge, teetering on the verge of falling down and never stopping. He should have told someone about this long ago…

    “ _ Oh come now, telling someone wouldn’t help you. We both know that. You’re too fucked up for anyone to help you _ .” Tom almost fell off his bed he had flinched so hard. The voice was sounding too real these days. “ _ Ha! Did I scare you~? _ ”

    “You’re not real… Just… Fuck off.” 

    “ _ Ah Tom, always so quick with the comebacks. _ ” How was he being outsmarted by hallucination? 

Tom actually jumped off his bed, startled when a loud knock came from his door. Tord’s voice laughed, calling him an idiot and other hurtful things. Tom tried to look dignified, like he hadn’t just done something that embarrassing. Then he remembered that no one had seen him and he was trying to prove a point to someone who wasn’t actually there. He faced palmed at his own stupidity. The knock sounded again. Tom glared at the door, wanting whoever was on the other side to fuck off and leave him alone. He would come out when he was allowed to drink again and not a moment sooner!

“Whoever it is go away!”

There was a pause before:

“It’s Patryck, sir.” 

“Great. Go away.” Tom went to go deadlock the door, in case the soldier got the stupid idea of trying to bust his way in.

“I brought vodka.” 

Tom couldn’t open the door fast enough.

Patryck stood in front of the door, dressed in civilian casuals with a large brown paper bag in hand. Tom made to snatch the bag away from the soldier but Patryck was too fast, stepping out of the way and almost shoving his way inside the room. 

“I will give it to you on the condition that I supervise.” Tom grimaced at that statement. He did not need a babysitter to watch over him. “I insist sir. You are still recovering from your… Injuries… And if anything should happen to you I would never forgive myself. Also, the Chief would kill me.”

Tom gave the kid one last glare before closing at re-locking his door. It was sound reasoning. If the kid wanted to see him get pissed drunk, whatever. So long as he got his needed Smirnoff and the fake Tord shut the hell up, he would be happy. 

Patryck handed over the bag, taking a seat on the bed and watching as his superior almost purred in delight when the gift was open. Tom was impressed with the gift; it wasn’t Smirnoff but it was strong as all hell. _Sailor Vodka_ , bottled at 170 Proof or 85% ABV, taking one hell of a liver to handle. Tom didn’t even know how Patryck had gotten his hands on such a fine piece of booze, their army sure as shit didn’t have anything this strong in storage. He glanced over at the man in the yellow hoodie, eyebrow raised. This must have been hard for him to get, why had he gone out of his way to give _him_ something so nice? It wasn’t like they were close-- Tom and Patryck hadn’t really talked since the day he had been recruited, only giving one another a nod of acknowledgement when they passed by. Patryck had not even been with the rebellion long enough to be told about their secret caverns and yet here he was, bringing the most needed gift in the world. 

“Um…” Tom wasn’t good with getting his feelings out. The words lodged in his mouth and began so tangled up when it all just ended in word vomit. “This um…”

“ _ Um, uh, um-- Tom you are so poetic. Please paint me a word picture. _ ” Tord mocked.

Patryck just held up his hand, silencing Tom before he could even begin to ruin what he wanted to say. 

“I understand.”

Tom smiled and twisted off the cap.   


 

* * *

Patryck had been slightly concerned when the eyeless man started the chug the bottle, he didn’t want to kill the bastard. Just get him drunk, to loosen up and trust him. If his liver started to fail because of the sudden rush of alcohol pouring into it, Patryck would have to take him back to medical ward. Who would then ask questions and that would make people focus on him. He couldn’t have that. Also, he didn’t think Red Leader would be too pleased with him for poisoning his… Whatever this man was to Tord. Enemy? Former friend? Lover? Patryck somehow doubted that last two.

But to his surprise, Tom didn’t get sick, let alone drunk till about half the bottle was gone. Patryck couldn’t help but be both horrified and impressed. That ‘gift’ was extremely alcoholic-- a few shots would have put Patryck on his ass and yet Tom was drinking it like fish deprived of water. Bastard must have the strongest working liver in the galaxy… 

“Finally… Silence. Sweet sweet silence,” Tom mused, taking another gulp from the bottle.

“Silence, sir?” Patryck had not said a word since the other had started drinking.

Tom paused at this, as if he suddenly remembered that Patryck was there. He looked at the ‘private’ for a long moment before seeming to come to a decision and shrugging his shoulders.

“Yup. I hear shit.” Patryck kept his face neutral. Tom’s file had said nothing about mental instability. “I think… Heh. I think I hate myself so much that I just can’t let myself be happy. Pretty dark shit, huh?”

Patryck shifted his position on the bed, pretending to be distracted by the posters on the wall. He wasn’t sure what to say to that-- agree? Tell him it would be ok? He wasn’t a therapist, he was a general and a spy, nor did he really care about the enemy’s well being. He tried to choose his words carefully.

“Do they…. Tell you--” 

Tom held up a finger and Patryck quickly shut his mouth.

“Gonna stop you right there. No. Not  _ that _ kind of hearing shit. I am not insane-- I know the voice isn’t real.”

“There is only one, sir?”

Tom made a face at this, electing to ignore the question and take another long swig from the bottle of vodka. Patryck glanced at the door, mentally calculating how long it would take for him to make a break for it in case things got bad. It wasn’t that he couldn’t defend himself, Tord had personally trained him in hand to hand combat. It was just that hitting your ‘superior’ after getting him drunk when he was on medical leave, seemed like a good way to get kicked out. Patryck couldn’t have that. So escape was his best option in case things went south.

“...You know what really sucks?” Tom didn’t give the spy a chance to respond, continuing on as he was talking to himself. “Knowing it is fake, knowing that no one is actually speaking to you, but your own self hatred just keeps kicking your in the balls because it KNOWS you hate him, more than anyone else on the damn planet. So of course your fucked up psyche chooses his voice to mock and torment you 27/4. Honestly, I think the only thing that would ever make it shut up is if I put a bullet between his stupid silver eyes.” 

Tom fell silent, staring down at the floor. Patryck just stared at him, a little shocked at this development. He heard Tord’s voice. That… That was an interesting development. Not what he had come here to learn, but still something important he could relay back to Red Leader.

Suddenly Tom look up at him, black voids staring directly into Patryck’s eyes. It was beyond terrifying. He couldn’t move, just sit frozen on the bed as this unnatural man stared at him with no mirth or amusement. It was the same fear he felt when Red Leaders disapproving glare cast down upon him. In that moment, the two felt very similar to Patryck.

“You tell anyone I said this and I will shoot you in the kneecaps, bury you alive, and watch as you suffocate to death.” 

His face betrayed no emotion, black orbs never leaving the soldier on the bed. Patryck felt his throat go dry, nodding his head in understanding.

    “...Good. I don’t need others involved in my shit. I can take care of it myself.” With that said, Tom returned to drinking and the tension vanished.

Patryck let out the breath of air he had been holding in, trying to regain his sense of balance. That… He had not expected that. He thought back to Tord’s warning and shuddered, suddenly understanding the meaning behind it. It was like looking at the same coin, really. On one side was Tord and on the other was Tom. Two people who were very similar but also complete opposites. Tom hid away his true feelings, letting them bubble and fester till they came out in the form of drinking. Tord wore his emotions on his sleeve, acting as he saw fit to meet ends need and lashing out when things did not go according to plan. Both had those dark streaks of cruelty in them but each man acted on it differently. Same. But different. Was this way Tord sought after Tom so? Because he saw himself in the eyeless man? Patryck could only guess.

 

They sat in silence as the bottle grew emptier by the gulp.

 

* * *

Tord stared down at the map spread across his desk, eyebrows crinkled in annoyance. Small circles and lines dotted the outline of England, but none of the markings intersected or connected to one another. In all honesty, Tord should have seen this coming, and was mentally kicking himself for thinking that Matt would be even mildly useful when it came to information. Knowing how the Green Rebellion was getting around was an importance piece of the puzzle, but the main issue at hand was… Matt had no idea where any of the tunnels lead out to. He knew that there were tunnels, knew that they spread all across Europe and some of Scandinavia, but the ginger hadn’t the faintest clue WHERE they were. No amount of torture or sweet talk could make that idiot remember and it was a waste of time to even try. There was a bright side to this mess, however small and flickering that light was: At least Tord now knew where the enemy’s main base was located. It had been the ONLY thing Matt could recall with clarity and that most likely because the damn hide out was near his gran's home.

Gritting his teeth, the Norwegian crumbled up the map and tossed it aside. Trying to guess where the tunnels were was a useless endeavor, and drilling random holes across his lands in hopes of hitting paydirt would only run their budget into the red. It was best to put a pin in that issue and move on. But he couldn’t. The tunnels were too big a security risk. He didn’t know where they came out-- for all he knew there could be passageways leading into the base that held his trump card. Patryck, his little spy on the inside, was at much of a loss as he was. Apparently new recruits were not allowed to enter the underground passages until they had a full year of service under their belt-- no doubt one of Tom’s idea’s to keep the information safe. Patryck hadn’t been there long enough for clearance to be given to him, and 

Tord knew he had to do something and soon: With Matt gone, he did not doubt that Edd and Tom would seek vengeance for their ‘fallen’ comrade. Waiting till Patryck rose in the ranks and gained their trust was not an option Tord wanted to fall back on. It was too long a wait, and the longer Patryck stayed there, the more in danger he was of them finding out his true identity. So really, that only left one option:

Direct assault.

 

It was possible though the only way to get the drop on them would to literally be, dropping in on them. An air assault in the dead of night. Patryck could deal with those on guard, take out the few anti-craft weaponry that they had, give them the advantage… It was risky. If they were spotted flying towards the base there was nothing to stop the so called ‘freedom fighters’ from running into the tunnels like the rats they were. If that happened Tord would never find them and blowing up their main base would be pointless. That meant the mecha had to stay grounded, much to Red Leader’s dismay. With it, he could easily turn the whole complex to rubble. But it was too noticeable. If word got out that he was going to use it, the Green Rebellion would instantly be on their toes, on the lookout for it just in case. No, they would have to make due with their Boeing EA-18G Growler’s and Boeing P-8’s to do the job. 

However, Tord did not want to leave anything to chance, not when those morons were involved. Knowing their idiotic luck, all the planes would be spotted and shot down, or hit a ‘cloudberg’ (he still refused to believe that was a thing) on way to the enemy base.

 

No, if you want something done right, you had to do it yourself.

 

A knock on his door jarred him from his thoughts. Tord pressed the buzzer, unlocking the door and letting whoever it was in. Paul entered, saluted perfectly, and approached the desk.

“Message from Patryck, sir.” He held out a parchment and Tord took it, eyebrow raised at the smirk on Paul's face. “I think you will find it… Enlightening.” 

That peaked his curiosity. Tord opened the letter, little surprised to find that it only contained one sentence. Normally Patryck would send more, otherwise why bother risk being caught? He read it over. Once. Twice. Three times.

_ Tom’s thinking about you. _

Then he smiled and Paul shuddered at the sight of it.

    “Paul, get our men ready and assemble the squadron leaders. We have an attack to plan~.”  

    “Of course sir.”

 

Tord bit his bottom lip with anticipation, blood pumping at the idea of that eyeless man thinking about him. What did he think about? The past? Did he think about how he almost died at his hands? Tord had been so pleased to know he had survived that little scuffle, eager to see his rival get revenge. Yes it had taken many years, something Tord was not pleased with-- but to know that he was now thinking about him. It was worth the wait. Maybe he thought about fighting him? Killing him in battle. Tord liked that thought, the two of them in hand to hand combat, Tom shoved to the ground as Tord wrapped his hands around that slender throat of his. He would squeeze so tight, those black voids would go wide in shock and Tom would struggle, trying to tear his enemy’s hands off-- 

Paul coughed softly, jolting Tord from his daydream.

Tord glared at his second in command, irked to have been interrupted. Paul took a step back, a little nervous that he had overstepped his bounds. The Norwegian sighed and shook his head, calming himself. This was not the time for silly little day-dreams, he had a rebellion to crush. He could… Entertain himself… At a later date once the planning for the attack was out of the way. Besides, why daydream if he could have the real thing? That thought sent a pool of heat coursing through his veins. 

 

Shuddering with delight, Red Leader tossed the note in his waste bin and started towards the mahogany door, Paul following dutifully behind him.

“--And have a ‘special’ cell prepared.” Tord couldn’t help but wet his suddenly dry lips. “I will send over the specifications later.”

“Yes, Red Leader.” 

 

The attack couldn’t come soon enough for Tord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the attack is sort of broken up into 3 chapters at the moment. Because one chapter was too long and I needed to space out time writing this. Because things are starting to catch up on me. Eek.  
> Anyways.  
> Hope you all enjoyed this weeks update.  
> \-------  
> Thanks again to Aryandiani as my editor and for putting up with my writing slump.


	16. Assault, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attack begins...

_ Two Weeks Later... _

The sentry yawned, not even bothering to cover their mouth to try and be polite. It was too late for that kind of nonsense. He looked down at his watch, grimacing when the digital numbers read out 03:15: The next shift change wouldn’t be for another fifteen minutes. Fifteen long, agonizing minutes, each of which the sentry could feel his eyes growing heavier and heavier. Falling asleep on the job was grounds for punishment, and he didn’t want to have his drink rations switched to that disgusting Diet Vegan Bacon Chocolate Flavored Cola-- seriously, who the hell thought that was a good idea? He shuddered at the thought of having to drink that swill and tried to keep his eyes open. It just wasn’t working. Not even the cold night air could keep him awake at this point. He had been on guard duty since dinner, taking an extra shift for his friend in exchange for a pack of smokes. He regretted that decision now. 

 

He tried to count the stars, thinking that trying to keep track of the numbers would keep his mind active and awake. It didn’t; it just made him sleepier. The guard scowled, wrapping the blanket around him to stave off some of the cold. Roof guard duty sucked: It was cold, nothing happened, and constantly he had to send away soldiers who snuck up with their lovers, of which always moaned and complied that the other guards let them come up here for a quickie. Which of course was a lie; no one but those on guard were allowed up on the bases roof due to security protocols.

His vision was starting to blur black at the corners when someone put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump up in fright and pull his gun on the offender. 

“Woah-- Woah!” A private with brown winged hair held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the guy here to take your shift, that would be super shitty of you.... Also for you because then you would have to stay on shift-- AND file a report!”

The sentry blinked, taking a moment to process the other man's words before lowering his gun and muttering a soft repentant. 

“S-sorry… Just. Tired. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He holstered his gun, giving the private an apologetic smile. It probably looked more tired than remorseful, however. “I swear, I don’t normally do this-- you wont… You wont mention this to anyone will you?”

The brown haired man just laughed and shook his head no, giving the tired guard a gentle pat on the back.

“Relax, we’ve all been there before. Go get some rest, I got this covered.”

The sentry smiled, giving his replacement a multitude of thank yous as he tossed off the blanket and made a beeline for the stairway door. He didn’t look back once and almost moaned in delight when he got inside the warm building. Gods it would be good to sleep after that long shift. He could already hear his pillow calling to him from down in the tunnels, telling him to come to bed and rest his tired eyes. Yet, in his sleep hazed state, he failed to notice how early the stand-in had arrived. 

 

* * *

Patryck caught the blanket that was tossed in his face, grimacing at the night guards quick escape indoors. So sloppy. How these idiots lasted as long as they had was beyond Patryck: Perhaps dumb luck liked morons? He would ponder it later, he had job to do and only fifteen minutes to do it. Well, fourteen now.

Throwing the blanket aside, the Polish man made his way towards the air vent that poked out of the corner of the roof. The grate was already lose when he grabbed on, prepped before hand for this very night. Patryck tore the grate off, gently setting it down on the ground and reached into the dark void, pulling from it a long suitcase. It was so cold to the touch, Patryck dropped it to the floor, the contents spilling out across the roofs cemented ground. He cursed his foolishness, rubbing his hands together to try and warm them. Of course the handle had been cold-- he had hidden it in an air duct! Idiot.

Patryck scooped up the fallen item, pressing the sniper rifle close to his body to try and warm it. He should have brought gloves. Why didn’t he ever think about these sort of things? Now his hands might shake and that could cause him to miss a shot-- pierdolić, Red Leader was going to have his head on a pike if he missed any of his shots because of such a dumb reason.

There was no time to warm up the cold metal, however; Patryck knew that he would have to grin and bare the pain. 

 

Making his way over to the ledge, the spy began to set to work, putting the scope on the rifle which was then followed by the silencer. Last screwed on was the metal ‘legs’ to keep it steady as he shot. Patryck could feel his hands burning from the cold. He ignored the pain and lined up his first shot; the sentry on the other end of the roof. He lined up his gun, took a deep breath, steadied himself, and pulled the trigger. The figure slumped to the ground. One down, two more to go. 

He changed his location to the other side of the rooftop, trying to find the second night watch on the top of the east end building. Patryck frowned when he couldn’t find them. Had they skipped their shift? No, no one would risk drinking that awful swill just to skip out on guard duty-- not if they valued their stomach walls staying intact. So where were they? He felt a bead of sweat roll down his chin, nerves starting to act up as the seconds counted down in his head. Eleven minutes and thirty three seconds till the next shift. Where was the fucking guard?! Patryck almost cried in delight when the bastard suddenly popped up from beneath the rooftops low wall. He had just lined up his shot when someone else appeared as well. Two guards? That hadn’t been scheduled-- had they changed it without him noticing? No, he had double-- no-- triple checked the shifts for this very reason. There shouldn’t be more than one guard on that rooftop tonight.

Patryck’s confusion was quickly cleared up when the two figures moved together, arms wrapped tightly around one another and heads pressed close together. He rolled his eyes and relaxed. Classy: Fucking while on shift-- and for the second time that night Patryck wondered how these idiots were a threat to Red Leader. 

One bullet was enough to drop both of them, and Patryck moved onto the third and final rooftop guard on the west side. He wasn’t even surprised to find this one reading a magazine, shooting the lazy bastard down with a scowl on his face. Truly disgraceful. Sure, he might not be the ‘perfect soldier--’ he had a horrible track record with airplanes and got shot so much that Paul joked he was a magnet for bullets. (Never fately mind you, but they still had the uncanny ability to always hit him, even if he was nowhere near the fire fight.) But he never fell asleep on the job or half-assed it. He gave it his all, no matter how important or menial the task was. These soldiers were a mockery of everything he stood for, of everything he had trained to be! 

He switched positions to deal with the guards on the ground. Unlike their rooftop counterparts they were actually acting like proper soldiers, keeping a watchful eye out on the fields that surrounded the former cola factory. Patryck was pleased to see that some of them understood what it meant to be a soldier: A pity they were on the wrong side. 

They dropped like flies before him.

Patryck gave the ground one last quick scan, making sure that he had not missed anyone before setting the rifle on the ground. He couldn’t feel his hands and moving them caused fire to burn across his skin. Yup, should have worn gloves. He checked his watch, pleased to see that he was three minutes ahead of schedule; plenty of time to warm up his hands and get them back into working order.

 

* * *

When the actual guard showed up the rooftop was empty, only the stars were there  to greet her. She found it odd, suspicious even, that no one else was around. She had only taken two steps out of the doorway when the blade sunk into her neck. She didn’t feel it at first; it had been too quick for her to even process what had happened. Then it sliced across, digging in so deep that it nicked her spine. That hurt. It hurt a lot. But she couldn’t scream, her vocal cords had been severed by the blade. She just felt a lot of pain, followed by the feeling of falling… And then nothing. She was dead by the time her body hit the ground.

 

* * *

Patryck looked down at his watch, rubbing the bloodied knife clean on the dead girl’s green overcoat. 03:40. She had been five minutes late for her shift. This army was a mess. 

He knelt down and grabbed the dead guard by her collar, dragging the corpse away from the door in case anyone came up for a nightly ‘rendezvous.’ Patryck hid her next to the air vent, yanked her gloves off, and put them on himself before fishing the rifle back out of its hidey-hole. They were just a hair too tight, but anything was better than that cold metal against his flesh. 

 

After reassembling the sniper rifle, Patryck made his way over to the edge of the roof, using the scope to scan the night skies. Clouds were starting to roll in, causing the traitor to grimace. While it would hide the Red Army's approach, it also obscured his vision and made finding his allies harder. That air drop was the only way he would know when to go unlock the doors; without it he would have no clue when to sneak down and let them in. He couldn’t just stay by the door all night, that would look suspicious! Patryck grit his teeth, scanning the clouds again. This time he saw them, three large planes descending from the dark mists, the bright red logo sprayed onto the side of each one. Patryck kept a watchful eye as the three cargo planes approached; rifle scope trained on the hulking freighters as small figures fell out of the back. He counted each one that jumped from the plane, watching as their chutes deployed and the soldiers floated safely down to earth. He counted one hundred and one paratroopers in total. A small number, perhaps, but it was large enough to get a sneak attack on the main base. 

The plan was rather simple overall: He would get rid of any guards on the outside, (check) meet his allies at the side entrance where the dorm rooms for new recruits were, (on his way there now) and give them a quick layout of the base and guard shifts. Then on his own, ‘secure’ those in command. They wouldn’t even see it coming. Knock on their door, give them a worried smile that conveyed a need to chat, and take them down when their back was turned. Edd would not be a problem; he seemed to be the weakest fighter out of them all and Mark was in too weak a mental state to put up a proper fight. It was Eduardo and Tom that Patryck worried about. 

 

Eduardo was always on guard, constantly tense and just waiting for something to attack him. The mans paranoia made him rather impossible to get the drop on. Patryck had tried sneaking up on him multiple times, only to fail. Eduardo always saw him coming, somehow… To make matters worse he often wasn’t alone: His subordinate, Yui, was always nearby him, even when she had no business being there. She didn’t seem to care for him much either, no matter how many attempts he had tried at befriending her, it just never took. He had even tried to flirt with her as a last ditch effort to make the girl like him. That seemed to make Yui only dislike him more. Granted, if push came to shove, he could simply kill her. She wasn’t built for fighting. She was short and somewhat pudgy, not your model soldier. But if he wasted time taking her out, that would leave Eduardo plenty of time to either retaliate or sound the alarm. Hopefully he would be fast asleep in bed, minding his own damn business. However, since Matt’s ‘death’ and Marks muteness, he and Yui had been spending more time together. He would drop in on her guard shifts just to chat, making the rounds with her as they would talk about absolutely nothing of value. Patryck hoped she was alone tonight, he really wanted this whole operation to go smoothly.

Tom on the other hand, was dangerous in an unpredictable way. Even boozed out of his mind he was still strong and reckless. On one mission Patryck had seen him hit with a bullet to the leg, take it in stride, hop into an ‘enemy’ tank, fire at random upon the Red Army base they were trying to seize, all the while drunk on what Patryck assumed was two bottles of Smirnoff. Not even he had been able to process what he had seen, so shocked by the pure stupidity of the action and complete balls it took to even attempt something like that. Tom was a dangerous enigma to him. Upside, he was most likely fast asleep in bed given the late hour, so Patryck just had to subdue him before he woke up.

 

Patryck had almost made it to the back entrance when he spotted Eduardo’s second in command rounding the corner, munching on a bag of potato chips. He froze, waiting for her superior to appear behind her like he always did. She grew closer and when Eduardo did not show, Patryck relaxed. 

“Private Patryck?” She paused, giving him a frown. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Ah,  _ Lieutenant General, _ just the women I was hoping to find~.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a heads up guys.  
> I have finally gotten a job and wont be able to post as much. I am going to try to keep to a 'once every two weeks' schedule, but we'll see how that goes.  
> I also need to write more because I have caught up to all my current writings.  
> The story will continue and I know how it will go, I just need more time to get there.  
> So please bare with me while things slow down! :)
> 
> \------
> 
> And again, thank you editor!!


	17. Assault, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attack on the rebel base continues...

Tom stalked the halls, Smirnoff bottle in hand as he trudged down the empty corridors trying to drown out his thoughts. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the grinning dumb smile of Matt, his orange hair perfectly styled in place, telling him some dumb story about his and Mark’s adventure for the day. It hurt. It hurt to think that Matt was gone and never coming back. 

Tom had always harbored the secret wish that Matt would return, just like he had in the past. He had come back from being a zombie-- why not death? But when no Matt came jogging up to their base, idiotic grin in tow, Tom began to lose hope. Even when something… Unfortunate… Had happened to all of them in the past, they always survived it. 

 

Sleep avoiding him and guilt wracking his brain, Tom took to walking the halls, unable to lie in bed any longer and do nothing. The hallways were pretty boring at this hour; everyone who he could chat with was asleep. No, that wasn’t right. There were a few on guard duty he could talk to without wanting to blow his brains out. Yui was stationed in the back of the factory and she was fun to talk to-- so long as he didn’t try to steal her food: Learned that one the hard way. Downside to that plan was that Eduardo took to following her like a lost puppy ever since Mark had emotionally shut down, and Tom didn’t want to deal with Edd’s doppleganger at this hour. But he also didn’t want to be ‘that’ guy who walked alone, drinking to calm the night terrors; it was such a cliche.

He grimaced and took a moment to debate it over before finally caving into his loneliness, making his way towards the rear of the base. Anything was better than being a cliche, even Eduardos bitch ass.

 

Tom didn’t have to walk far. Yui’s route was a simple, almost circular pattern that took her from the mess hall towards the armory storage and back, Tom knowing this route rather well. He had (along with Eduardo’s help) created the layout for the night guards to patrol. If he made his way towards the mess hall he would be sure to run into her. 

He rounded the corner, just about to take a long gulp from the bottle when he spied Patryck talking to Yui, her back facing her General. Tom was about to call out to them, hand raised mid air when time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. He saw the Lieutenant General fall to the ground, her eyes wide in shock. There was red pooling around her as she slowly reached a shaking hand towards her stomach. His empty sockets moved from the prone form to the private, staring at the bloodied blade in his hand. He saw Patryck’s smile. It was cold, pleased. His true colors. Patryck’s eyes found his lack there of, staring at each other for what felt like a long time. Patryck’s smile morphed into a look of shock then something unreadable. Then time kicked back into gear.

 

Tom’s body moved for him, his brain still processing what it had seen. The bottle in his hand and been thrown, barely missing the traitor's head. It hit the wall behind him and shattered, dousing the bastard with glass and vodka. He shielded himself from the shards that flew towards his face, cursing in a language Tom didn’t have the time to focus on. He rushed forward, grabbing a large shard of glass off the ground and stabbing it into Patryck’s arm. He ignored the pain of the fragment digging into his hand, pushing the makeshift weapon deeper into the traitor. 

“Pierdolić!!” Patryck spat, slamming his own weapon down into Tom’s shoulder.

Tom ignored agony blossoming as the blade nicked bone, taking almost no notice as the traitor tried to twist it and make him back off. He pushed forward, digging the blade further into the other man.

From behind him, cutting through the haze of rage that filled his mind, Tom heard a soft cough. He paused, unsure of what he had just heard. It was the opening Patryck needed, he tore himself away, the glass cutting at Tom’s already injured fingers as it refused to leave the traitors arm. Tom made a lunge at Patryck, an attempt to grab him-- to stop him before he could get away-- but another weak cough made him pause once more. Yui was still alive. Tom could waste time trying to stab the bastard who hurt her, or he could focus on getting her medical attention… His anger wanted him to finish to job, to rip out Patryck’s lying tongue and then force feed it back to him, but his gut told him to get the lieutenant help. Because he couldn’t bare to watch someone else he knew die. Because Eduardo couldn’t take that strain. Because Mark was already on the edge. Because Edd was already upset about losing one friend. 

 

Patryck made his escape when he rushed to Yui’s side, relieved to see that she was still conscious enough to understand bleeding out was a shitty way to die and was covering her injury. Tom swatted her hand away, quickly replacing it with his own. 

“S-sir he is--”

“Shut up.” Tom cut her off, doing his best to ignore how much red was spilling across his hands.

“I-it’s not deep sir. I-I’ll be fine.”

“I said shut up-- now gimme your radio so I can get medical here and have the base shut down--”

Yui shoved him away, giving her superior a hard glare. Tom returned the glare as she covered the wound with her own hand, balling up the bottom of her shirt and using it as a makeshift bandage to slow the bleeding.

“I-I…. I am fine sir.” She wasn’t. She was speaking through gritted teeth, blood  seeping through her fingers. “I… Can call medica--... cal myself.”

Yui turned her head to one side and spat out a large glob of blood, giving Tom a hard look when she turned back.

“Go…” The lieutenant general forced a smile for him, reaching for the radio on her hip. “I-I can handle this.”

“Bullshit.” But Tom stood anyways, eyes never leaving the bleeding girl as he took a step back. 

He could argue; tell her that she would probably bleed to death pulling a stunt like this. But that would be wasted time on both their ends.

“He’s get-tting… Away, s-sir.”

Tom cursed and took a knee, grabbing Yui’s sidearm with his good hand.

“If you die because of this stupidity, I am going to be so fucking pissed.” The safety was clicked off.

“D-duly noted, sir.”

 

Tom gave his soldier one last look, unsure what else to say. He wanted to say something, to tell her that he would be back with help, or that she would be fine. But both of those would probably be lies. He couldn’t be sure he would get help in time, not when he had to catch someone first. He couldn’t be sure that help would arrive before the worst befell her... So, he turned away, black orbs focusing on the drops of blood that trailed off down the hallway. He followed the red stream, never once looking back.

 

Pursuing Patryck was easy. It was like following the yellow brick road to Oz, only in this case the bricks were blood red, and instead of a wizard to grant hopes and dreams, it was a traitorous lying son of a bitch.

Tom tracked the blood to the mess hall, entering with his gun drawn and black voids surveying the room. It was empty. He glanced down at the blood splatter, frowning as trail ended here. Shit. Where had that son of a bitch gone? Tom cursed. Patryck must have stopped the bleeding and taken a different route-- which meant that he could be anywhere in the base. Double shit.

 

The second-in-command startled at the sound of gunfire, turning to face the noise with his gun pointed and ready. Patryck. Tom made to go after the sound when a thought stopped him. Patryck didn’t have a gun on him… Only a knife. The acoustic tones of loud ‘rat-tat-tat’s’ bounced off the walls, echoing and drowning out Tom’s thoughts. For a moment he thought that his soldiers had found Patryck and opened fired on him, but that… Didn’t make any sense, either. Only two people currently knew the man was a traitor, so… Who was shooting? 

…

….

……

SHIT.

 

Tom bolted towards the ‘fire alarm,’ smashing the glass with the butt of his gun and pulling the lever. Sirens blared, lights flashed, and a calm and concise voice spoke over the noise.

“ _ Code RED. This is not a drill. I repeat-- _ ” 

Tom ran out of the room, panic flooding his senses as he raced down the hallways that were now painted in red. More than once he tripped over a body.

Where was Edd? Was he safe? How many were in the base? Did they know about the tunnel entrance? Patryck sold them out-- all these thoughts coursed through his mind as he ran down hallway, terror racing through him as he saw all his soldiers littering the ground. They must have been patrolling and were jumped… Were the officers in their beds alright? Which part of the base had been hit first? 

 

The second-in-command rounded the corner, only to pull himself back when he spotted the soldiers in blue and red. He held his breath. When no gun fire came he knew that they had not seen him. Tom peeked around the corner and counted off the enemy numbers: Five men, all currently focused on searching the storage room. Odd’s were in his favor. Tom took a deep breath, held it, then turned the corner and shot the Red Army soldier closest to him. The bullet went through the man's head and into his comrades arm. Tom took advantage of their confusion, firing at them all in quick succession. They scrambled for cover but it was too late. Even if the shot wasn’t fatal it still hit it’s mark. They went down screaming in pain. Tom scooped up one of the fallen enemies guns, his own weapon out of ammo. Picking up where he left off, he  continued to fire. He shot till this gun was spent and there was not a sound from the fallen soldiers. He watched the bodies, waiting for them to make a move and when none of them did, he dropped the empty gun to the ground. Five down, fuck knows how many to go. 

 

Tom grabbed one of the dead soldiers guns, inspecting it over to make sure it had not been damaged before making  rounds to clean the bodies of any ammo they had on them. Last thing he wanted was to run out of bullets mid fight. Or whatever these guns shot. They were unlike any Tom had seen before, sleek and lightweight. The ammo packs were odd as well. As far as Tom could see, they were nothing but a thin brick like shape that went into the gun; somewhat like a battery. He hadn’t paid attention when he used the enemy's gun before, but now that he looked at the bodies… It looked like small circular objects had been shot clean through them. Tom could actually see in one side and out another. Creepy. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, however. The base was compromised and running about without a weapon was suicide. Tom pointed the gun at the wall, using both hands to aim. He didn’t know the kickback on this thing and last thing he needed was a black eye on top of a stabbed shoulder and cut hand. He did a test fire on the handgun, startled when he shot a bolt of red light at the wall and scorched it black. Huh, lasers. Tord really was upping his game. Shit, their armor would be useless against this OP weapon.

 

Tom gave the corpses a swift kick out spite before rushing off. He had to find Edd and get him to safety. The base was done for, Tom knew that trying to take it back at this point was a waste of manpower and lives. Better to cut their losses, evacuate who they could to the tunnels, and blow the whole thing sky high. But he had to find Edd first. Tom was not leaving the place without his friend.

 

Suddenly the base shook, a mighty blast echoing in the night, causing the whole building to tremble and adjust. Tom clung to the wall to steady himself, waiting for the tremors to pass before continuing on. That wasn’t a good sign. Someone must have blown the chargers early… Or one of the Red Army morons accidently set off the detonators without knowing what it was. Probably that last one. Code Red’s final procedure was not to blow the base until either Tom or Edd had been secured underground-- or confirmed dead-- and Edd would never blow up the base with Tom still in it. Either way, his time was running thin before the whole place went up in flames or crumbled down around him. Both were shitty ways to die.

“EDD!” he called out blindly for his friend, smoke starting to fill the hallway he was in. 

Tom turned back, unable to continue forward in that direction without his lungs burning worse then when Smirnoff spilled into them. The factory trembled once more, the ground cracking beneath the commander's feet. Tom bolted. He ran back towards the recreational room; there was a mole-people entrance hidden under the bar, he could escape through there and re-enter a safer side of the base to look for Edd. Parts of the ground started to fall away and Tom picked up the pace, knowing that he didn’t have long before this whole wing came crashing down around him.

 

Barely managing to duck out of the way of a falling ceiling, Tom stumbled into the ‘game’ room, taking this moment to catch his breath. Everything hurt. His shoulder, his hand, his lunges. It all burned and ached. 

 

It was at that moment something swung towards his head. Tom saw it out of the corner of his ‘eye,’ unable to move out of the way as the butt of a rifle smashed him across the head. The second-in-command fell back, clutching his skull. His hand felt wet and red was dripping down the side of his face. The room was spinning. Not good. So, so, not good. 

He turned to face the Red Army bastard dumb enough not to shoot him first-- and froze. Standing before him and grinning down at Tom like a cheshire cat, was the leader of the Red Army himself.

“Hello. Old friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My editor puts up with my lazy posts and slow typing... thank gods for them T.T
> 
> Anyways.  
> Next chapter might take a bit because it is coming around Dragon*Con so my weekend will be hell busy with cosplay and stuff.  
> I will do my best to have the next installment posted by Sept 10th! Promise!


	18. Comeuppance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Show down.

     Tom was rooted to the spot, sockets locked on the figure that stood not but ten feet away from him, smiling as if he had just heard the most amusing story. Tom shook his head, refusing to believe what he was seeing. Tord couldn’t be here- he couldn’t be! The man never went on missions without that precious robot of his-- never risked his own well being for low level missions like this. A grand battlefield, perhaps, or the even final fight to take over a ruined nationed, yes. But never on a sneak attack in the dead of night with no one around to watch. That wasn’t Tord’s style. He was sick and twisted. He loved to put on a show and make others watch his cruel ways. It had to be a trick created by his own fucked up broken mind. The voices were now hallucinations. Tom shouldn’t be surprised. Of course it would come to this. He had been bottling this up for years and his own screwed up thoughts had formed into one big grand last fuck you to himself. Showing his worst enemy to him as the base he and his friends had created fell around him.

 

When the Norwegian raised up his hand, gun pointed directly at Tom, he didn’t even flinch. Because it wasn’t real. Tord wasn’t there. The voice had just become stronger because of the attack and was--

 

The illusion laughed and agony blossomed across Tom’s only working shoulder.

 

Tom stumbled back, the force of the laser blast throwing him off balance. He looked down at his new wound, red spilling down his chest and staining his dark green jacket. Reaching a shaking hand up, Tom pressed his fingers against the burn hole, hissing in pain when it stung.

 

Shit.

This was real.

Tord was in front of him. With a gun.

Acting like it was just the two of them in this base. Like no one else was suffering because of his actions.

 

He looked up at Tord with new found horror and rage. The bastards expression never changed, still smiling like a cat with a fat canary to eat.

 

    “YOU-” Tom’s cry of rage was cut short as another shot was fired, burning a hole in his already injured arm.

    “Thomas.” the Red Leader ran his eyes over his trapped prize, taking a calm step forward and almost giggling when Tom’s reaction was to take a step back. Oh how he had waited for this moment. Years and months he had dreamed about this very fight. Dreamed about holding Tom down as he forced the eyeless freak to watch his rebellion crumble before him, his men executed before his very eyes. Tord shivered in delight, his face flushing. It was all coming to fruition. “Thomas, Thomas. You have no idea how long I have been looking for you.”

 

It was like a dance between the two. Every step towards his prize would make the bloodied man hobble backwards, backing up until his back was pressed against the wall and the gun was pressing against his temple. Tom sent the dictator his best glare, ignoring how that only seemed to make the other mans smile grow.

    “ _Y_ _ears._ ” Tord pressed a finger into the shoulder wound he had created, watching Tom writhe in pain as he twisted his fingers against the burned flesh. He licked his bottom lip, already excited. He had so many plans for dear Thomas. So many.  “I had one of my best men waste four years of his life looking for you and your friends. I could have had him doing much more important tasks, but instead you forced me to squander his abilities searching for your pathetic drunken ass. Really, the ends you will go to just to annoy me knows no bounds.”

 

Tom grit his teeth, refusing to make cry out and give the bastard the satisfaction. In return Tord tried harder to make any sort of sound slip from his tightly pressed lips, fingers scissoring apart and tearing the injury open wider. When the pain became too much to bare, Tom opened his mouth, spitting out a glob of saliva into the communists face. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself from noticing the pain. Caught off guard by this (and disgusted as well), Tord pulled back with revulsion and anger, giving Tom the chance he needed to shove the other away and make a break for it. Red Leader cursed and fired at the fleeing figure, firing another voly of blasts at Tom’s legs and back. He wasn’t trying to kill the Brit after all, no, he wanted his prize pet very much alive. He had ideas for Tom- cruel wonderful ideas! But he had to be alive for those.

But Tom was too fast. He lept over the bars counter, ducking down as the lasers not only blasted the alcohol off the shelf and sent booze and glass flying everywhere, but also catching it on fire. Tom cursed, his jacket caught in the spread of fire and quickly beat it out. The flames began to spread across the rec room fast, the flames finding old alcohol spills and eating them up with glee. The bar was no longer safe cover. But moving else where made him an easy target. Tom flinched when another glass of alcohol popped from the heat, spraying cheap liquor everywhere. Better to be shot dead then burnt alive... Using the flames as cover, Tom kept low as he made a dash for one of the sofas, weapon drawn and at the ready. His sockets darted about the room, searching for Tord, ready to lock on and fire the moment he was spotted. But the ‘Red Leader’ was nowhere in sight.

   

Then Tom felt a crushing weight on his back.

 

Tackled mid run, Tom and Tord tumbled towards the middle of the room, stolen weapon sent scattering to one side, eaten up by the ever growing flames. Breath knocked out of him and taken by surprise, Tom was shoved to the ground, a fist smashing into his wounded shoulder. He screamed out in pain, too off guard to even silence himself for pride's sake.

    “Clever little ruse there, Tommie-boy --” this time the blow was to his face, vision spinning when the follow up smashed into his cheek. “Using the flames to hide. You have such good potential! It is a shame that it is wasted here~.”

Empty eyes desperately searched the room for a solution, a way to get the monster off of him. Another punch hit him and Tom knew that it wouldn’t be long before he lost consciousness from taking so many hits to the face. Then he saw it. Not two feet behind them was the harpoon cannon, sitting in the middle of the rec room, still untouched by the flames. She had never once been moved  nor used since the day Tom had put her there, an eye piece to remind him about his past failure. Tom felt his heart quicken, hope spreading through his body and numbing the pain. There was still a chance…

Tord hit him again and Tom heard a loud crunch as pain blossomed over his face. Tord drew back his hand, admiring the broken nose he had just given his rival with a look of utter glee. It looked beautiful on him. Red truely was Toms color.

Tom saw his moment and took it. Ignoring the pain in his face, his shoulders, the heat from the flames surrounding them-- he threw all his strength into his arms and shoved the communist off. Tord fell onto his back and Tom quickly scrambled towards the harpoon cannon. He could hear Tord laughing behind him, already getting back to his feet.

   “Where are you going, Thomas? There is no where to--”

   “--Shut the fuck up.”

His hand landed on the trigger of the cannon, smearing it with blood as Tom shoved his weight against the weapon, swiveling it to face the other dictator. He sent Tord a quick grin, then fired.

 

    Tord’s eyes went wide, body instinctively throwing up a hand to shield himself from the oncoming pain. There was no time to dodge. He was too close to the cannon. The harpoon rocketed out, whistling loudly through the air and stabbing Tord straight through the arm. It didn’t stop there, the momentum carried it on, tearing the limb off with a sick squelching sound and burying deep into the wall behind him. For a moment Tord didn’t make a sound. Tom just stared in shock, surprised that he had missed at such close range. Really, he should be asking how he made that shot in the first place, both his shoulders were barely functional, his hand had been stabbed, and he had taken numerous blows to the head. It was a miracle it had hit anything BUT the wall.

Then Tord began to scream. It was a loud, ear shattering cry of agony that echoed throughout the room. Pain took hold moments later. He grasped the bleeding socket, blood pouring through his fingers and down his side in horrendous amounts. Tord collapsed to his knees, pressing down on his injury with desperation as a last ditch attempt to slow the bleeding. It continued to spilling out, staining his blue uniform an ugly brown, almost a shade of black in the fire's light.

 

Tom watched from his slumped position against the harpoon cannon, too stunned to move at first. Would Tord die from this? There was so much blood everywhere it would only be a matter of time before he bleed out, corpse left to be burned and never found among the ruin of the fallen base. Tom liked that idea. No one ever finding his pathetic corpse. Left to rot in an abandoned shitty rip off-cola factory. But he wasn’t going to leave this to chance. He wasn’t going to leave him here and assume he would bleed to death-- no, not with this man. This was TORD. He wasn’t going to die that easily. Tom could only imagine the bastard dragging himself to safety where his men would find him, a bullshit deus ex machina that villains always seemed to get. No, Tom wasn’t going to leave Tord’s death to fate. He was going to finish this once and for all.

 

With a tired heave, Tom stumbled off the cannon and stalked towards the one armed man.

Tord didn’t hear him coming, too preoccupied with the injury to notice the rebels approach. A shaking hand reached out, grabbing one of Tords hair spikes. Red Leader had just enough time to wonder in his dazed state who was tugging on his hair when he was shoved face first into the flames.

Tom shoved himself on top of Tord, using his full dead weight to pin the man down on his side as the fire burned his skin. The stench of burning flesh hit Tom’s nostrils and he wanted to vomit, horrified at how it reminded him of the smell of freshly cooked bacon. He fought past his revulsion, past Tord’s weak struggles, and continued to hold him down. Tord’s cries began to grow weaker, his struggles lessening as the flames ate away at his skin, and Tom wanted to cry for joy because after all these years this monster was finally getting his comeuppance.

 

     A pair of hands grabbed him from behind, yanking him away from the burning body. Tom crashed into the burning bar, flames latching onto his uniform once again and starting to eat away at it. In his panic Tom slammed his body against the ground, trying to put himself out before the fire could spread. He heard the sound of bottles popping from the heat, glass shattering and flying over head. From behind there was a cry of two men, cursing about the smoke and flames. He tried to get a good look at who it was, enemy or ally, but the smoke was wafting into his sockets, blinding him to whom the voices belonged to. Tom shook his head, coughing hard as he tried to get the burning vapors out of his empty eyes. His vision cleared, only a little but it was enough to see that he was now alone in a room that was mostly on fire. The doorway was covered in orange and yellow flames, the ceiling was cracking and threatening to cave in, and Tord… Tord was nowhere to be found.

 

    “No… NO!” Tom screeched in rage, cries of anger cut short by smoke burning at his throat. This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t fucking fair-- he had almost had him! Tom had felt his life slowly slipping away, Tord had been inches from death and then someone yanked that once and a lifetime chance away from him! “S-son of a bitch!”

 

The more he cursed, the harder it became to breath. Soon Tom was hacking and wheezing, crawling across the ground, desperate to find that escape route. His lunges were on fire, each breath sucked in ash and smoke, making each gulp of air hurt more then the last. But he wasn’t going to die here. Fuck no. If Tord was going to survive then so would he. Tom wasn’t going to die like this, not with that bastard still alive out there. The general crawled behind the fiery bar, spying the small escape hatch buried under melting glass and burning wood. Tom grit his teeth and fought through the pain, fought through his smoke filled vision, and crawled towards the manhole cover. He brushed off the glass and wood, ignoring any pain that it caused him in the process. He already had two useless shoulders, what were a few more burn marks and cuts going to do to him? If he-- when he-- survived this, Tom swore to put gas masks into their next base. Breathing in burning smoked sucked.

 

    The manhole cover was heavy. Almost too much for him to lift. Tom pried at the hot metal, the tips of his fingers screamed in pain from the heat but he pressed on. He tugged with all his might, fighting to ignore the searing pain in his shoulders and the tearing feeling in more than one of his finger nails. The cover finally slid off, just enough that Tom could shove it aside with his feet instead of his already damaged hands. By now the room had become nothing but smoke and fire. His uniform had even started to burn once more. Tom didn’t bother to put it out this time. He just fell into the escape route, praying to god that the watery impact below wouldn’t snap his neck. That would be such a dumb way to die…

 

Tom vision faded to black before he even hit the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I had work, I wasn't on the computer much, I had to get a new job, I had to write from BOTH their points of view for this chapter which is awkward as fuck-- its been a long time.  
> Anyways...  
> I know this isn't proof read. I am so sorry. I don't know if my editor is still around, and it was 1:15 am when i finished it so I couldn't ask my friend to proof read it.  
> So most likely I will update the chapter LATER with edits.  
> I just wanted to post it because it has been way too long.\  
> I am hella sorry.


	19. Delet Later- writting update announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GOOD NEWS

Letting you all know I am starting to write again.

FINALLY got out of my writers block and knew how to continue the story.  
The middle bit is always the hardest cause you know how to get from point A to Z but everything in between in a garbled up mess.

So hopefully I will be posting again soon and adding a side one shot as a bonus (it was going to go into the story but I couldn't fit it in and it didn't work so rather then cut the pages I'mma move em to a one shot)

Anyways.  
Thanks for waiting.  
Sorry about the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I had all this bundled up inside of me and I needed to get it out.  
> So I am gonna write until it is all out of me.


End file.
